P s 

(o35 
.Z.9 

E2I5 
\ 



UNMASK! UNMASK!! 



A PLAY OF TODAY IN THREE ACTS 

BY 

ARTHUR JEROME EDDY 



LUthor's Proof. Return this copy 
Arthur Jerome Eddy, 800 The 
'emple, Chicago, lU., U. S. A. 




Class Jjl'lAli_ 

Book ."^Q) 

Copyriglrtli" 't.ZA'b 

COPYRIGHT DEPOSrr 



/c 



Author's Proof. Return this copy- 
to Arthur Jerome Eddy, 800 The 
Temple, Chicago, 111., U. S. A. 



UNMASK! UNMASK!! 



A PT.AY OF TODAY IN THREE ACTS. 

BY 

ARTHUR JEROME EDDY. 



Time, — The Present. 
Plaee, — New York. 

Act I. Library in Robert Grantor's house; hour, 
near midnight. 

Act IT. Drawing' Room in Robert Grantor's house; 
houi", five o'clock following day. 

Act III. Same as Act I; hour, near midnight of same 
dav. 



CHARACTERS. 



Robert Grantor, age 64. 

Dr. Hilton, age 65. 

Rector of All Saints, age about 50. 

Captain John Stanmore, age 30. 

John, Grantor's man, age 45. 

Mrs. Grantor, age 24. 

Mrs. Manley, age 40. 

Marie, maid. 

Guests in mask at ball. 






©Cl.D J721f 



THP96-007259 



UNMASK! UNMASK!! 



ACT I. 

Scene, — Library in Kobert Grantor's house in New 

York. 

Room is rather sombre in furnishings and hangings. 
Furniture heavy, substantial, but of an early day; 
book-cases massive; pictures old fashioned, — all about 
as one would expect in the home of a wealthy man of 
sixty, who has lived unmarried many years in the same 
house. 

The doors, entrances, high ceiling, and everything 
about the room indicate the spacious character of the 
house. 

Doors right and left, near rear. 

Large entrance in rear center. This entrance is 
closed by large double doors, which swing out, and by 
heavy 2)ortieres of rich, dark tapestry, when drawn 
together these portieres cover doors. 

The doors are not used in Act I, but remain swung 
back out of sight. 

This entrance leads to a broad hail- way extending 
right and left, such a hallway as might run the length 
of a large old-fashioned house. Its walls are panelled 
and richly decorated. 

When the portieres are parted the hall is disclosed, 
well, but softly lighted, — a soft, deep rose light, as if 
the lights were shaded for the occasion to produce a 
colored effect. 

The light, which is soft and diffused, comes from 
ceiling in left of hallway, source of light not visible 
through entrance. 

A tall, heavily ornamented clock stands in hall, 
against rear wall, and a little to right of center. It 
is visible to portion of audience only when portieres 
are pulled fully to each side. This clock has a rich, 
deep, distant strike, — ver}^ slow. 

Fire place with low tire at right; an oval portrait of 
a dark, aristocratic man of about twenty-eight — Robert 
Grantor's father — hangs over mantel. 



Bookcases well filled, along rear of room, at each 
side of entrance. 

Pictures, bronzes, etc. 

Sofa near fire place. It extends right and left, but 
with slight angle from left front to right rear, so that 
any one sitting on it slightly faces fire place. 

Large, massive library table at left. Table extends 
from front to rear, but at slight angle from left front 
to right rear, so that any one seated behind table will 
have back to left side entrance, and at same time 
partly face audience. 

Two drawers in table, one at left of any one writing, 
the other at right. 

Drawer at left, nearest audience, is locked; key is 
kept in a compartment in other drawer. 

Table is leather covered, — it is massively made and 
richly carved. 

Leather covered arm chair behind table. 

Two or three chairs of similar pattern in room. Sofa 
matches other furniture. 

Writing materials, books pamphlets on table, also 
bronze lamp with large, heavily leaded" glass shade. 

The library is dimly lighted by lamp and fire in fire 
place. 

Hour, — a little after eleven at night. 

A mask ball is in progress in the house but the 
library is not brilliantly lighted. The guests are not 
supposed to make use of it. As compared with the 
brightly, though softly, lighted hallway, the library is 
comparatively dark and uninviting. 

When the portieres are apart, sound of distant 
musi-c is heard as indicated, and guests in mask and 
brilliant costumes may be seen passing to and fro. 

The overture should end in a waltz, and as curtain 
rises the overture should die away and the same waltz 
be taken up withou't a break by musicians behind scenes 
and be faintly heard. 

As curtain rises stage disclosed as described. Por- 
tieres are a few feet apart so that the softly lighted 
hall is visible. 

Guests in costumes and masks pass to and fro slowly, 



chatting mysteriously as people are wont to do at such 
functions. 

After the hipse of a moment or so two of the guests, 
a young man and a young woman, pause at the opening 
and pushing the portieres back a little farther, peep 
into the comparatively lighted library. 

Young Woman, — How dark it is in here. 

Young Man {stepping forward a little), — Let us go 
in. 

Young Woman, — No, I am afraid. 

Young Man— Of what? 

Young Woman, — Of you — ha — ha^ha. 

Young Man, — You do not know me. 

Young Woman, — That is why I fear you. 

Young Man {leaning toicard her), — You would be 
more afraid if you did. 

Young Woman, — Perhaps. Come, we are missing 
the waltz. 

{They give portieres a jerJc together and disappear 
toward left in hallway. As portieres are almost to- 
gether the sound of the music is more muffled. Several 
seconds elapse. 

Mrs. Manley appears suddenly at rear, pushes back 
one of the portieres with her right hand and looks in 
as if in search of some one. Seeing no one, she enters, 
carefully closing portieres behind her and holding them 
together with one hand. She again looks about the 
room nervously. She is in beautiftd costume with mask 
covering eyes and part of face. 

Seeing and hearing no one she steps quickly toward 
rear of library table. She bends down and tries to open 



left drawer. It is locked. She quickly and nervously 
looks over table for key, when sound at right entrance 
causes her to straighten up quickly. 

John enters to look after fire in fire place. He pauses, 
surprised, when he sees a masked ivoman at the writing 
table. He does not recognize her.) 

Mrs. M. {nervously moving things on table,) — I was 
looking for — for my — fan. Have you seen it anywhere? 

John, — No, ma'am. 

Mrs. M {moving toiuard rear), — I must liave left it 
in the ball room. 

{She disappears quickly through portieres.) 

John {as he closes portieres behind her), — That's 
strange. Her voice sounded very familiar. I wonder 
who she is. She wasn't looking for any fan, more 
likely a man. These great ladies do queer things when 
they think they aren't known. 

{John stirs up fire and goes out — right.) 

{Enter Dr. Hilton at rear. He pauses between por- 
tieres and motions to Rector to come. As he stands 
there the soft light from hall falls fidl on him, and 
sounds of music are a little plainer. As he stands 
waiting, Mrs. Grantor, in mask, passes at rear, throws 
him a kiss, then takes a flower from her corsage, tosses 
it to him and passes on to right ivith a wave of her 
hamd. The doctor's gaze follows her. He is puzzled; 
does not recognize her. He puts flower in button-hole. 

Doctor comes forward, followed by Rector, who ap- 
pears at entrance from left in hall.) 

Dr. H., — Whew ! It is a relief to get away from the 
jam. 



Rector, — Very decidedly. But it is a brilliant ball. 
The most gorgeous thing of the kind I have ever at- 
tended. I suppose everybody is heah. 

{The Rector is a fashionable clergyman, the head of 
an aristocratic church, very polished, suave, and tact- 
ful, cuts his r's a little like a southerner. The doctor 
is more direct and forceful, a rank sceptic and cynic, 
yet he and the Rector are fairly good friends, not- 
withstanding he looks upon the latter^s attitude as 
mostly a ''pose.'^) 

Dr. H., — I dare say, but so far I haven't been able 
to recognize a soul, not even our hostess. 

Rector (shaking his finger at the doctor). — Nor the 
charming young woman who threw you the flower, and 
with it a kiss? 

Dr. H. (sloivly), — Probably one of my patients. (He 
has put flower in button hole.) 

Rector (smiling), — Let us be charitable and hope so. 

Dr. H., — But hang it man, you don't suppose any 
one else would dare— 

Rector, — My experience is that men and women dare 
do anything behind a mask. 

Dr. H., — Well, you ought to know, for you preach 
every Sunday to a lot of masks. Have a cigar! 
(He takes case from his pocket.) 

Rector (raising his hand in protest), — Thank you, 
I do not smoke, you know. 

Dr. H., — Gad, I forgot. Most preachers do now-a- 
days whether they like to or not. Makes them look 
worldly and helps them get a firmer grip on sinners. 



(Doctor lights Ms cigar and as he lights it asks 
shortly), — Play billiards? 

Eectok^ — I am very fond of billiards. 

Dr. H.— Cards? 

Eector, — When it is necessary to accommodate 
others by making a fourth hand. 

Dr. H.,— Wine! 

Rector,— Occasionally, only occasionally. 

Dr. H., — You'll do, you'll get on, but with all those 
qualifications you might as well smoke, — in this world 
I mean (the doctor laughs at his little joke). 

RectoR; — If your theories are correct, no one runs 
any risk of smoking in the hereafter; — you deny a 
future life. 

Dr. H., — For your sake, — and mine, and (he sweeps 
his hand in the direction of the hall, as if embracing 
guests he had in mind) a good many other sinners 
here tonight, let us hope that I am right. 

Rector {smiling benignly), — That is rather a sweep- 
ing {he imitates the doctor's gesture) remark. I have 
more confidence in human nature. I should say there 
are many here tonight who need have no fears regard- 
ing the hereafter. 

Dr. H., — Bah! It is your business to allay those 
fears, to make them think they are good, to lull them 
to sleep in the midst of their sins. 

Rector {ivith dignity), — It is my business to try and 
make them good. 

Dr. H., — Let me tell you you have some pretty stub- 
born and rotten material to work on. I know your 



people fairly well. While you are wrestling with their 
moral side I am doing my best to patch up their physi- 
cal. If you could see them as they really are — ugh! 
{TJie doctor holds up his hand in disgust). 

Eectok, — But there are exceptions — 

Dr. H. {iHterrupting dryly) , — Very few. 

Rector {with euthusiasm), — Take Robert Grantor, 
himself, what a man he is! verily one of the salt of the 
earth. {As the Rector speaks, the doctor eyes him 
ivith a curious expression). No man in the city does 
more good. No man stands higher. A pillar of the 
church. A citizen without reproach. You surelj^ would 
not include him in your sweeping condemnation? {The 
Rector looks at the doctor triumphantly. The latter 
puffs vigorously at his cigar without replying for a 
time.) 

Dr. H. {sloicly), — As the world goes, I suppose 
Grantor is as good as the average. 

Rector {enthusiastically)^ — Better, doctor, better. 
He is one man in a thousand. 

Dr. H. {ivith seeming indifference, as he takes the 
cigar from his mouth and rolls it between his fingers, 
looking at it meditatively), — How long have you known 
Grantor? 

Rector, — Ever since I came to the city. 

Dr. H. {reckoning the time), — You have been here, 
let me see, about ^vq years? 

Rector, — Five years next June. He is one of my 
vestrymen, you know. 

Dr. H. {dryly),— Ye^, yes. It is a wise clergyman 
who knoweth his own vestrymen. 



10 

Eectok (with some asperity), — I can only repeat, 
Robert Grantor is an exceptional man, — a very re- 
markable man. 

Dr. H. (assenting emphatically to the last remark), — 
You are right, lie is a remarkable man. I have known 
him for thirty-odd years. 

Eectoe, — Then there is no need for me to sing his 
praises to you. 

Dr. H., — No, — It is quite unnecessary. (There is 
something in the doctor's manner which puzzles t\e 
Rector, and for a moment or two nothing is said. The 
doctor once m.ore puffs away vigorously, blowing clouds 
of smoke toward ceiling.) 

Doctor, — Do you know how long it takes to know a 
man! 

Eector, — Why, I should say that one might — (he 
hesitates) 

Dr. H., — Three thousand years are all too short. In 
a hundred generations you may tind his principal 
traits, but there will still remain in his character hid- 
den recesses to which only generations still more re- 
mote supply the key. 

(Again there is a moment's silence.) 

Dr. H. (abruptly) , — "What do you think of Grantor's 
marriage ! 

Rector (surprised), — Why, a most happy union. 
I performed the ceremony myself. 

Dr. H. (impatiently), — I know, I know, but he is 
forty years older than his wife. She is a girl. He is 
an old man. 



11 

Rector, — Not so very old, not so very old. Just 
turned sixty, and a wonderfully well preserved man. 

Dr. H., — That is where the physician comes in. It 
is our business to fight the ravages of age, — especially 
where a man has a young wife. 

Rector, — They seem very happy. 

Dr. H., — How about a few years hence. She will be 
in her prime, as a woman, when he is a decrepit old 
man. She will feel all the overwhelming impulses of 
youth when he is powerless to keep pace with her. She 
will crave life, love, pleasure, and he will hang like a 
mill-stone about her neck. 

Rector (rather tamely), — You do not believe then 
in such marriages? 

Dr. H., — No, nor should you. I have seen too much 
of the evil consequences, of the bodily and mental dis- 
orders which follow. What right has age to suck 
like a vampire, the warm, red blood of youth! 

Rector, — But if the}^ love each other — 

Dr. H. (vehemently), — It is not love. It is mere 
animal passion in its most degrading form. It is not 
the longing of the normal man for the companionship 
of a woman of his own age. It has nothing of that fine 
sympathy between two beings which is the foundation 
of love. It is the animal craving of the old and worn- 
out man for a young, fresh and innocent victim, — for 
the blood of a girl. The fairer, the sweeter, the younger 
she is, the more completely does she satisfy his un- 
natural lust. 

Rector, — Are you not rather severe? Surely you 
would not include our host and hostess? 



12 

Dr. H., — 1 ^as thinking of the many ill-mated couples 
which have come under my own observation. I do 
not know of an instance which has not resulted, soon 
or late, unhappily. For a time there is an outward 
show of happiness, but it is all a sham, a pretense. 

Eectok, — I am afraid you are a pessimist, doctor. It 
strikes me Mr. and Mrs. Grantor are as happily mar- 
ried as any two people in New York. 

' Dr. H. {dryly), — That is not saying much. 

Rectoe {smiling), — Then let me say as happily 
united as any two people I know. 

Dr. H. {bluntly) ,—-Y OUT knowledge of human nature 
may be superficial. 

Eectogr {resuming the tone of the doctor's remarks), 
— I fancy it is as deep as that of most men who wish 
to see the good in people rather than the bad. 

Dr. H., — That's just it. One can't see the good with- 
out the bad. In fact it is through the bad that one 
sees and understands the good, the really good. What 
you call good in people is a sort of a halo which your 
imagination spreads about their devoted heads. The 
worst of them are better than you think. But, let me 
tell you, the best of them, with all the goodness they 
really possess, are damned bad. 

{The doctor has risen as he spoke. As he finishes 
he tosses the cigar in the fire, and they prepare to 
leave the room. A gay masker puts her head through 
the portieres, glances in, then tuithdraivs her head sud- 
denly and disappears. Sounds of mu^sic faintly heard.) 

.Dr. H. {pausing in center and pointing toivards open- 



13 

iiig irliere masker had looked in), — Did you know that 
woman, Rector! 

Rector, — No, she wore a mask — 

Dr. H., — Well, we all wear masks, every one of us. 
You wear a mask. I wear one. Now and then our 
masks are lifted a little and we think we know each 
other, but we do not. Life is one long mask, and most 
of us are lucky enough to mystify the world even in 
death ; but now and then something happens, some 
fibre of our being yields under the strain of this long 
career of sham and hypocrisy, the mask falls away and 
our real nature, our innermost being stands forth re- 
vealed in all its hideous deformity. We are known 
and recognized for what we are. 

Rector, — I have more confidence in human nature. 

Dr. H., — Think as well of it as you please — that is 
part of your profession, but let me tell you the mask 
man wears is about all that divides him from the 
brutes. 

{They go out rear and disappear toward left, leav- 
ing the portieres about a foot apart. Music faintly 
heard. 

Mrs. Grantor enters quickly, followed hy Capt. Stan- 
more. She is nervous. Both are masked and in cos- 
tume.) 

Mrs. G. {trying to speak lightly, hut her voice shows 
her nervousness), — But I tell you, you do not know me, 
you are mistaken. 

Capt. 8. {intensely) , — Mistaken in that voice, those 
lips, the eyes which shine so brightly through that 
mask. I would know you if your back was turned and 
you did not speak. Take off the mask. 

{He removes his tvith a sudden gesture.) 



14 

Mrs. G. {putting out her hand to stop him, hut too 
late) J — No, no, you must not. It is not time. At mid- 
night we all unmask. 

Capt. S., — But it lacks so little of the hour. There 
is no one here. Will you not take it off for just a 
minute, Alice? 

Mrs. G. {shaking her head slowly, and speaking in 
a low voice) ^—Yovi must not call me by that name. I 
am not Alice, — not the Alice you think I am, but a 
woman, a very old woman who has almost forgotten 
when she was a girl. 

Capt. S., — Do not try to deceive me. I recognized 
5^ou before I had been in the house a half hour. 

Mrs. G., — A half hour! That is a long time. My dis- 
guise must be better than I thought. 

Capt. S., — It is the dress, the way your hair is 
done — 

Mrs. G., — But my eyes, my voice, — I thought you 
said you knew every feature. 

Capt. S., — And so I do, but — 

Mrs. G. {interrupting)^ — For a whole half hour I 
passed to and fro before your searchnig gaze and you 
knew me not. Be not too sure now, for I tell you, I 
am not the Alice you think I am. 

Capt. S., — Once you were Alice — 

Mrs. C. {as if recalling a time long past), — Yes, once, 
— years ago they used to call me Alice, but then I was 
a child, now {ivith a gesture of resignation) , now I am 
an old married woman. The Alice you knew is dead; 
the woman to whom you are speaking you do not know. 



15 

Capt. S. {sadly), — True, I may not know you now, 
but I knew you once, and not so very long ago — a few 
short years. Then you were free and listened to me 
when I spoke of love. You did not wear a mask — 

Mrs. G. ('uiterruptuig), — Who knows? Who can 
say when we are masked and when we are not? A 
moment ago you wore, that bit of silk. It did not dis- 
guise you. I could see through that, but now {she 
looks at him intently and slowly shakes her head) the 
mask you wear I cannot see through; it hides your 
face ; it covers even your eyes. 

Capt. S. {puzzled), — I do not understand you. 

Mrs. G., — Nor I. I do not understand myself. I 
have had so many queer fancies and feelings tonight. 
As I moved about among my guests it seemed at 
times as if they were not disguised. I could not call 
a dozen by name, and yet I felt as if I knew them all 
for the first time, and once, — once when I suddenly 
came face to face with my husband who is not in cos- 
tume, it seemed as if he was the only person in the 
room who wore a mask. He did not know me, but 
through his mask I could see his eyes and feel his 
searching gaze. He passed on secure in his disguise. 
The man behind the mask I did not know. Again 
when I met the Rector, he, too, wore a mask, such a 
smooth and complacent mask, but back of the suave 
and unctions exterior I felt there was a person I had 
never met, one I had not invited to my ball, one, per- 
haps, I would not have asked if I had really known 
him ; he, too, moved on secure in his disguise. 

Cai)t. S., — I have hardly met the Eector, but I do 



16 

not care for him. There is one other man here not 
in costume. 

Mrs. G., — Yes, Dr. Hilton. He, too, wears a mask, 
but wears it so carelessly and indifferently, one can 
almost see the real man. His mask is nearly trans- 
parent. I like him, don't you? 

Capt. S.j^Very much, a plain, blunt man; he would 
have made a good soldier. 

Mrs. G., — He is my best friend. 

Capt. S., — If every face is a mask in itself, why 
wear that piece of silk? According to your theory it 
is no disguise. 

Mrs. G., — No, — that is why I like to wear it. That 
is why I gave this ball, to throw oft the mask I am 
obliged to wear every day of my life and be for one 
short evening a girl again, to be free to dance, to 
sing, to laugh, to shout, to be {fiercely and pathetic- 
ally) myself. 

Capt. S., — But will you not unmask for me for just 
a moment? 

Mrs. G., — No, it is not time, it is not midnight. I 
liave yet a half hour of freedom, of life, of joy. It is 
like being an invisible elf. No one knows me. My own 
husband does not know me. Come ! Put on your mask. 
We will play our parts until the clock strikes twelve,, 
and then — {she pauses significantly) 

Capt. S. {stepping close to her), — and then — 

Mrs. G. {lightly), — Why then, like Cinderella, I will 
return to my ashes. 

Capt. S. {stepping closer and seizing her hand), — 



17 

Does that mean that at midnight you will unmask your 
real self and let me know you once more as the woman, 
the girl I love? 

Mrs. G. {cl rawing hacJi), — No, no, never again. That 
girl is dead. 

Capt. S., — Not dead, but hiding behind the mask you 
wear as the wife of a man you do not love — 

Mrs. G. (putting her hand over his mouth) , — Stop, 
stop, you must not say that. It is not fair. You are 
here in his house as his guest as well as mine. You 
must play the game according to the rules, — and help 
me to do so too, — (appealingly) . You will, won't you? 

(She holds out her hand. He bends over and hisses 
it, then replaces his mask.) 

Mrs. G.,- — There, we may be missed. Let us return. 

Capt. S., — But will you give me a few moments 
later, just a few moments by ourselves! Remember it 
is four years since I have seen you. 

Mrs. G. (slowly, icith an effort),— It seems longer 
than that, — much longer. 

Capt. S. (earnestly), — Will you meet me here again? 

(He has stepped closer to her and taken her hand in 
both of his. At that moment Grantor enters at left. 
They do not hear him. He pauses near door on see- 
ing them. He does not know his ivife in mask and 
costume. Music faintly heard.) 

Mrs. G. (drawing back and catching her breath, but 
he does not release her hand^), — Yes, there, now let 
us go. 

Capt. S. (dr(uring her dose to him), — But when, tell 
me when. 



18 

Mrs. G., — At midnight. 

Capt. S., — And yon will take off yonr mask? 

Mrs. Gr., — Not .my mask, remember, not my life 
mask, bnt only this bit of silk. 

{They disappear through portieres. Grantor goes 
quicMy to portieres, holds one hack and gazes down 
hall at left in the direction they have gone. The light 
falls full on his face. 

He has almost ivhite hair, bushy eyebrows, and a 
closely cropped grey moustache. Pale face, good 
features, but there is a cold and cynical expression 
about the eyes and mouth. He has a manner of look- 
ing at people from under his shaggy eyebroivs as if 
he had little confidence in them. At the same time he 
has the faculty of quickly changing his expression and 
appearing open and frank. In this first act his self 
control is extraordinary, it is the control of a man 
whose life has been strangely spent, ivhose impulses 
are wholly bad, and ivho realizes the necessity of main- 
taining at all times the. pose he has assumed. 

As he peers down the halhvay he shakes his head 
and compresses his lips firmly. 

He turns back toward center, letting portieres fall 
together. Music ceases. At that moment Dr. Hilton 
enters at right.) 

G.,- — These balls are the invention of the devil. 
Dr. H. {shortly) —Why 1 

G., — Because when a woman puts on a mask she lays 
aside all decency. 

Dr. H., — The old story, the more we wear, the less 
we conceal.' 



19 

(jr., — Only a moment ago I came in here and sur- 
prised a man making love to a woman, probably the 
wife of another. 

Dr. H., — Quite likely. A man would hardly take 
the trouble to get himself up like a fool to make love 
to his own wife. 

G., — It is a good deal like turning the house into 
a resort for questionable characters. 

Dr. H., — The characters are the same whether in 
costume or not. You cannot alter a man by dressing 
him as a prince, or a woman by giving her the robes 
of a queen. They remain the same. What they do 
tonight under cover of their disguises, most of them 
will do more openly tomorrow. On the whole, I think 
the mask is an additional obstacle, — slight^ to be sure, 
but still an obstacle. 

G., — Bah! It makes the man more bold, and only 
serves to hide a woman's blushes. 

Dr. H., — You speak as if from experience. 

G. {his face icorTcs strangely for a moment, before 
he replies, •as if he ivere recalling many experieivces. 
His lips move, he half nods his head, and he peers side- 
icise at the doctor from under his heavy eyehroivs), — 
I know what these balls are, and I never went to one 
witli any decent end in view. 

'Dr. H., — Then why did you permit your wife to give 
this! 

G., — A woman's whim, a girl's fancy. She was 
bound to do it. A man can't deny a young wife every- 
thing. 

Dr. H. (meditatively) J — No, you are right there. If 



20 

an old man marries a child lie cannot expect her to 
put away childish things at once. 

G. (resenting the doctor^ s tone), — She is no child. 

Dr. H., — Scarcely more, — twenty-three or four. 

G., — And I — I'm not an old man yet. 

Dr. H. (in the same tone), — No — sixty- three, or 
four, a matter of only forty years between you. 

G. (biting his luords off), — See here, Hilton, why 
are you always reminding me of this difference in 

ages. 

Dr. H., — Am I not your medical adviser? 

G., — Well, what the devil has that to do with the 
matter ? 

Dr. H., — Much, my old friend, much. For nearly forty 
years I have had you in hand, doing my best to keep 
3^ou a going concern, so to speak. I carried you 
through the ills and vicissitudes of bachelorhood, cured 
the consequences of your follies, repaired as best I 
could the ravages of your vices. I thought the fires 
of youth had exhausted themselves, but just as I was 
congratulating myself in the belief that you were tired 
out, played out, worn out, and I would have a well- 
earned rest, you take it into your head to marry and 
like most old men whose lives have been spent in dissi- 
pation, you marry a child — pardon me, a mature 
woman of nineteen, and once more I am compelled to 
take off my coat and resume work on the rotten old 
hulk. 

G., — Look here, Hilton, that's going just a little too 
far. You and I are good friends. We know each other 



21 

pretty well. But there are some things I won't stand 
from even you. 

Dr. H., — You can choose another physician when- 
ever you see fit. 

G. {alarmed at the doctor's suggestion), — No. no, 
I did not mean that. I did not mean that, Hilton. I 
don't want another doctor. Why, damn it, man, you've 
always looked after me. You know me. You know me 
better than any man living. 

Dr. H., — And it is because I know you that I speak 
plainly. I warned you against this marriage. 

G., — But it hasn't done me any harm. I never felt 
better in my life. 

Dr. H., — But it has done her harm. Every nerve in 
her body is wracked, she is on the verge of a collapse. 
You have violated nature, you have prostituted youth 
to age. Without knowing it she is suffering all the 
miseries of a woman whose natural longings for chil- 
dren, for a home, for a family, can never be satisfied. 
In the end you will kill her. Mind you, she may not 
die, but none the less you will kill her, — the woman in 
her. 

G., — You don't know what you are talking about, 
Hilton. I do everything I can. I indulge her every 
whim and fancy. Why, she's as happy as a child. Look 
at this house tonight, filled with a lot of people, dressed 
like idiots. 

Dr. H., — That is just it; to you and me this is all 
child's play; to her it is fairy land. Age makes all 
the difference in the world in the way we look at these 
pleasures. You say you indulge her every whim, — as 



a doting old man humors a spoiled child, not with the 
fine sympatliy of a husband with his wife's tastes. 
You two have nothing in common, absolutely nothing, 
save the name you gave her. How that pure, sweet 
girl came to marry you, you of all men, I do not under- 
stand. 

G. {his lips ivorhing, and looking at the doctor side- 
tvise from under his eyehroivs, a pecidiar and charac- 
teristic expression, almost furtive. He, says shortly), 
— She loved me. 

Dr. H., — She loved you! Don't deceive yourself 
with any such notion. 

G. (harshly), — I tell you she loved me. 

Dr. H. (sloivly), — If I thought that girl loved you 
when she married you, or that she loves you now, 1 
should lose all faith in woman nature. If we could 
probe the secret depths of her soul, shall I tell you 
what we would find? We would find that every 
womanly instinct revolts against you. 

G. {harshly and with anger), — You have said enough. 
You take advantage of the fact we are old friends and 
you are my physician. 

Dr. H., — I said all I could to dissuade you from 
marrying. 

G., — Yes, and you have said enough. I am married 
and that's the end of it. 

Dr. H. {earnestly), — No, it is not the end of it. 
Grantor. I tell you that she is on the verge of a 
nervous crisis. She may go to pieces any day. Even 
now she is hardly responsible for what she does. While 
you, — well, I have told you your condition, I have 
warned you. 



23 

(1. {alarmed, and patting the doctor on the arm, as 
If to assure hhnself of the tatter's strength and sup- 
port), — Yes, yes, Hilton, I know, I know, but I am 
better, I am better, only the other day you said I 
was better, — don't you remember! 

Dr. H., — That was after ten days rest in the country. 
It is rest you need after the life you have led, and if 
you wish to prolong your years you must have rest, — 
alone, mind you, — alone. 

G., — But man, I can't live alone. A man might as 
well die as live alone. 

Dr. H., — Then you can make up your mind to die, 
and die some day or some night, very suddenly, un- 
less — {the doctor pauses and eyes Grantor critically) 

G. {appalled and frightened), — Unless what, — what, 
whatf Why the devil don't you speak? 

Dr. H., — Unless you suffer some sudden shock and 
lose your mind, — that is the frightful possibility which 
confronts you. 

G. {agitated, hut struggling against his fears), — He 
— ha — ha {the queer laugh dies away and he pauses 
suddenly, eyeing the doctor ivith his pecidiar, cunning 
and suspicious glance) you are trying to frighten me, 
Hilton, you are trying to frighten me {he slaps the 
doctor 0)1 the shoidder two or three times). I know 
you, — ha — ha — ha, for forty years you have been try- 
ing to frighten me, but I'm alive yet {he straightens 
up), I'm alive yet. I'm good for twenty years. 

Dr. H., — Twenty years — umph — I would not insure 
your life for twenty-four hours. 

G. {startled), — Eh — what's that? twenty-four hours! 



24 

Why, I haven't felt so well in years as I feel tonight. 
Look at me, look at me! {He throws his shoulders 
hack ivith an effort.) 

Dr. H., — It is your indomitable will which keeps 
yon going in the face of the world, but your life has 
been one long sham, it is a pose now, and to play the 
part to the end without betraying yourself is more 
than even you can do. 

G. {after a moment, during tuhich his lips and eye- 
broius luork nervously, he draws a long breath and 
replies more restlessly), — I'll take my chances. A man 
has but one life to live — 

{Enter Rector at rear. Grantor pauses suddenly.) 

Dr. H. {grimly), — Mr. Grantor was just remark- 
ing, Eector, that a man has but one life to live ; what 
do you say to that! 

Rector {suavely), — ^In this world, that is quite 
true — 

G., — And that is what I meant. 

{The doctor shrugs his shoulders.) 

' Rectok^ — I have been looking everywhere for Mrs. 
Grantor and cannot discover her. Can you not give 
me a hint, a clew, just an idea what she is wearing! 

G., — I do not know, myself. She kept her costume 
a secret. She did say something about a blue dress. 

Rectok, — But there are so many blue dresses. Did 
she say a very pale blue silk with velvet bodice and — 

Dr. H., — You have in mind the woman with pearls, 
whose gown is cut so shockingly low, — I have seen her 
myself; it is not Mrs, Grantor, I can assure you. 



25 

Rector (confused), — Believe me, I had not noticed. 

Dr. H. {smiling)— The velvet bodice? 

G., — It is nearly midnight and they will soon un- 
mask. 

Rector, — I shall then be able to congratulate Mrs. 
Grantor on the success of her ball. It is most bril- 
liant, most brilliant. It will be, I am sure, the talk of 
the city. Ah! What a source of satisfaction it must 
be to be able to give pleasure to so many — so many {he 
hesitates for a tvord). 

Dr. H. {mimicking the Rector's lofty manner), — De- 
serving people, you were about to say — 

Rector, — No, — no, that is not just the thought. 

Dr. H., — It was not the thought, but it is the phrase. 

Rector, — By the way, Mr. Grantor, if you will par- 
don m\' referring to the work of the parish on an oc- 
casion so convivial ; I wisli to inform you I have taken 
the liberty of proposing your name for chairman of 
the Board of Trustees of the Home for Erring Women. 
It is a work which I am sure will appeal to you. {The 
doctor covertly looks at Grantor and by a slight gesture 
betrays his enjoyment of the situation.) 

G. {a little confused, and glancing furtively in the 
direction of the doctor, ivho avoids his looks), — ^I — I — 
It seems to me there must be others better fitted for 
the work — 

Rector {eagerly), — No, no, there is not a man in 
the city so well ecpiipped to further this great enter- 
prise. Do you not agree with me, doctor? 

Dr. H. {dryly), — Why, yes, I should say our host is 
peculiarly qualified for such a position. 



26 

Rectok {to Grantor), — There, you see, there is no 
escape. We must have a man whose character and 
standing are such that these unfortunate creatures will 
recognize — 

Dr. H. {interrupting , still more dryly), — Better leave 
out the recognition, — that might be awkward. 

G. {hastily), — I shall consider the matter, Rector. 
Perhaps the chairmanship of the Board of Foreign 
Missions which you mentioned the other day would be 
better. 

Dr. H., — Decidedly better, since the heathen are too 
far away to recognize their benefactors. 

G*. {to Hector), — Suppose we go into the dining 
room and find something to drink. Will you come 
with us, doctor? 

Dr. H., — No, I shall remain here and have a smoke. 
I am tired. 

Gr., — You will find some cigars on the mantel there. 

{Rector and Grantor go out left. 

The doctor takes a cigar from tray on mantel, cuts 
end, lights it. He is lost in thought as he takes cigar, 
and while cutting' and lighting it he pauses now and 
then and remains perfectly still as if absorbed in his 
reflections. Once or twice he shakes his head slowly, 
purses his lips and then moves them as if muttering 
angrily. Before sitting doivn he stands for a fetv sec- 
onds teazling on mantel, and ivhen he does drop doivn 
on sofa he lets his hand holding the cigar fall on the 
arm of the sofa and he drops his head forward, slowly 
exhaling a mouthful of smoke. 

Mrs. Grantor, with mash, appears at rear and puts 



27 

Iter head ihrough portieres. She looks all about, then 
eatehes a glimpse of the doctor's stiff grey hair, and 
sees the small cloud of smoke. She smiles, presses 
her fingers to her lips, then tiptoes to behind the doc- 
tor, and before he has an opportunity to turn his 
head she puts her hands over his eyes, holding him 
fast. He, of course, recognizes her, but exclaims) 

Dr. H., — A princess? 

(She shakes her head and his and makes a negative 
exclamation in shrill, disguised voice.) 

Dr. H., — A queen? 

{Again she shakes his head and makes sound as 
before.) 

Dr. H., — An empress. 

{She shakes his head, but releases him.) 

Mrs. G. {laughing), — No, only a poor little girl. 

Di;. H. {rising), — In silks and satins and jewels. 

Mrs. G., — But none the less a poor little girl. {She 
comes about sofa to front.) I knew it was you from 
the cloud of smoke. You are always like a chimney 
afire. I am so tired. I am glad to rest a few minutes. 
{She drops down on sofa beside the doctor.) And I 
am going to take off this horrid mask for just a sec- 
ond. {She looks about apprehensively.) Where is 
Eobert 'I 

Dr. H., — Oh, you are safe. He and the Rector have 
gone to the dining room. 

Mrs. G. {uith a mischievous smile), — He doesn't 
know me. I have passed him dozens of times, and 
once I spoke to him. 



28 

Br. H., — He thinks you are dressed in blue. 

Mrs. G., — I said that to throw him off the track. 
Oh, it is such fun to be among your friends and have 
them talk to you without knowing you. 

Dr. H., — Has no one recognized you! 

Mrs. G. — No, — {she hesitates) that is, not for sure. 
I have not had this mask ofP until now. 

Dr. H., — But your voice, your mouth, your lips, I 
am sure I should have found you out if I had — 

Mrs. G., — But you didn't know me, and once I stood 
within so far {she spreads her hands apart) looking 
straight at you and you did not know me. You did 
not knew me when I threw you a kiss and tossed you 
that flower. 

Dr. H. {shaking his finger at her), — But I suspected, 
I suspected who it was. No other woman would be so 
bold. 

Mrs. G., — Oh, yes, dozens of them. We are bolder 
than lions when disguised. Strange how little it takes 
{she twirls mask about her finger) to hide us from, our 
best friends. 

Dr. H. {thoughtfully), — That is truer than you 
think, but often the disguises we rely upon turn out 
to be transparent, and we are betrayed. {He looks at 
her keenly.) You look tired. Are you feeling wellf 

Mrs. G., — Yes, — only at times my head bothers me, 
— there is a dull ache here {she puts her hand at the , 
hack of her head just above the neck). 

Dr. H. {looking at her gravely and shaking his 
head), — You need rest and quiet. 



29 

Mrs. G. (with a smile), — Why, that is what you are 
all the time telling Robert. 

Dr. H. {grnfflif), — You both need it. Do you know 
there are times when it is a good thing for a wife to 
get away from her husband, to leave him alone and be 
alone herself. 

Mrs. G., — But not when he is sick. That is the time 
he needs her. 

Dr. H., — A wife makes a poor nurse. {She shakes 
her head. He continues.) I do not like that feeling 
in the back of the head of which you complain. It 
shows 3^ou are nervously exhausted. Unless you get 
rest it may mean a collapse. Let me warn you in 
time. You must have rest, rest — {he emphasized the 
word). 

Mrs. G. {lightly), — Then after tonight I promise to 
be good, but tonight, tonight {she rises and puts on 
her mask) is mine and I shall do as I please. {Her 
voice suddenly changes.) Oh, doctor, you don't know 
what it is to step from reality into dream-land, from 
life into the realms of fancy, to see moving about the 
kings and queens and princes from the tales that were 
told us as children. They are all here, all, all. I have 
looked into their eyes, I have heard their voices, I 
have felt the warm pressure of their hands. They 
have spoken to me and I have called them by name. 
I know them every one. They are all here, — no {she 
presses her finger to her lips and half ivhispers, her 
voice, nhich has been half pathetic, becoming lighter) 
no, — not every one. Tlie prince who awakened the 
sleeping beauty with a kiss, he is not here. 



30 

Dr. H. {smiling and shahing his head), — Beware! 
lie may be looking for you even now. 

(As the doctor says this Capt. Stanmore appears 
at rear and loohs in through portieres. Mrs. G. turns 
suddenly, sees him, starts, and gives a little exclama- 
tion, ivhich causes the doctor, who has not seen the 
captain, to look at her. The captain disappears.) 

Dr. H.,— What is the matter! 

Mrs. Gr., — Nothing, — nothing, I thought I saw — 

Dr. H. {laughing), — The missing prince. 

Mrs. Gr. {in sloio twice), — Yes. {She looks nervously 
toward portieres. The doctor looks at her keenly.) 

Dr. H., — Be careful. You are excited and nervous. 
I shall be glad when this ball is over. 

Mrs. G., — And I wish it would never end. {Sounds 
of waltz heard.) There, I am engaged for this waltz. 
Listen, listen. Is it not intoxicating? {Her body 
moves unconsciously to the dreamy rhythm of the 
music.) It thrills every fibre. It sets me wild. I 
am no longer myself, but another being in another 
world. There, you think me foolish, don't you? But 
remember, we are in fairyland tonight, where there are 
no doctors, and no one is ever sick. 

{She disappears through portieres. The doctor 
watches her, stands silent a moment, rolling his cigar 
in his fingers meditatively.) 

Dr. H., — Umph ! And that fair young creature filled 
with the impulses of youth, filled with the poetry of 
life is the wife of Eobert Grantor. Faugh! 

{Doctor goes out, right. Stage left deserted for 



31 

sufficient time for audience to feel the tension. Lamp 
on table hums low. Music of icaltz heard faintly. 

Mrs. Mauley again appears at portieres and looks 
in furtively as she did before. As lamp on table burns 
low, stage is a little darker. She steps in quickly, 
carefully draning portieres behind her. She stands 
still, listening. Hearing no sound ^ she goes quickly 
to table, passes around it to drawer on left side. Her 
back is to door at left. She bends over and tries the 
drawer. It is locked. She straightens up a little, 
again listens, then begins a quick search for key, look- 
ing drawer at right, ivhich is not locked. She finds 
key and proceeds to try it in drawer. As she is ivork- 
ing at drawer. Grantor appears at door behind her, 
pauses astonished, and ivatches her a second, then as 
she gets drawer open and seizes a package of letters, 
he steps quickly forward, grasps her tightly by the 
icrist. She gives a little scream, and drops the letters 
in drawer. She straightens up and turns her face 
away a little. He looks at her closely, but does not 
recognize her behind her mask.) 

G. {hoarsely), — Who are you and what are you 
doing here? 

{He still holds her firmly by the ivrist. She hesi- 
tates a moment, then throwing her head back, she pulls 
off her mask defiantly.) 

G. {letting go her irrist and starting back in amaze- 
ment), — Grace Manley, you here tonight. I thought 
5'OU were in Japan. 

Mrs. M. {coolly), — And so I was, hut returned just 
in time for vour hall. 



3-2 

Gr.,— Does my wife know that you are here 1 

Mrs. M., — No, I came with friends. 

G. {nervously),' — But it is nearly midnight. 

Mrs. M. (contemptuously), — The same coward, 
afraid of your shadow. You need not worry. I shall 
go before they unmask. I have no desire to be seen 
by all these people in your house. I am not afraid to 
meet your wife, but there are others here who know 
us better than she does. 

G., — What are you doing here? 
(He gives one of his peculiarly furtive glances to- 
ivard the drawer, ivMck is partly open.) 

Mrs. M., — Yooking for my letters? I came to get 
them. 

G. (quicMy), — They are burned. I destroyed them. 

Mrs. M., — You lie. You have boasted to me, you 
never destroyed any evidence of a woman's weakness. 
You keep them to read and gloat over. They are in 
that drawer. 

G., — I tell you they are not. Look at the package 
you picked up. Is that your handwriting? 

(He takes packet of letters from, drawer and hands 
it to her. She looks at the address on the uppermost 
envelope.) 

Mrs. M. (shaking her head), — No, it is not mine, but 
it is the handwriting of some unhappy woman who has 
loved you and been made miserable. I can see her 
wretchedness in every character. I can feel it through 
the very folds of the paper. 

(She holds the letters a little from her in something 



33 

like fear (Did horror. He grabs them; thrusts them in 
the drawer and pushes it in ivith a quick shove. Her 
words and nunnier hai^e made him feel afraid.) 

G., — Anywa}^ they are not yours. 

Mrs. M., — But mine are in there somewhere. I re- 
member where you used to keep them, and I intend to 
have them. {She makes a motion toivard the drawer, 
hi(t he restrains her.) . 

G., — I tell you they are burned. I destroyed them 
long ago. 

Mrs. M., — I do not believe you, Eobert Grantor, I 
would not believe you under oath. Your tongue is 
false, your whole life is a lie. 

(A noise at door at right.) 

G., — Careful, some one is coming, your mask. 
{Mrs. M. hastily holds her mask over her face and 
moves a little to one side. 
John enters at right, and pauses ivhen he sees them.) 

John {coolly), — I beg your pardon, sir, but madam 
was looking for her fan here a few moments ago. 

{John's tone shoivs'he suspects Mrs. M.'s good faith 
and he wishes to ivarn Grantor. 

Grantor eyes Mrs. M. suspiciously.) 

Mrs. M. {self-possessed), — Yes, I was quite sure I 
left my fan on the table. 

G., — You see, it is not here. Look for it in the ball 
room, John. {Turning toward Mrs. M. enquiringly , hut 
the slightly veiled sneer in his voice shows his little 
faith in the fan story.) It is a — 

Mrs. M. {coolly and quickly), — Bed fan, ♦ 



34 

G.— With— ! 

Mrs. M., — Sticks of tortoise shell. {She boivs to 
him as she says this.) 

G. {to John, ivho fully appreciates the play, hut is 
stolidity itself) , — Eemember, John, a red fan with 
sticks of tortoise shell. 

John, — Shall I bring it here, sir? 

G. {with significance) ,- — If you are so fortunate as 
to find that particular fan, you may bring it to me, 
and I willdo myself the honor of returning it to the 
lady in mask. You may go. 

{John goes out, right.) 

G., — So you have been here before, this evening. 

Mrs. M. {defiantly), — Yes, and I shall come again, 
if not tonight, then tomorrow. I shall not rest until 
every scrap of paper which you have of mine is de- 
stroyed. {Then pleadingly and approaching him.) Oh, 
I beg of you, give them to me. They are of no use 
to you. You are married, and if any one should see 
them, it would mean ruin for me. 

G. {very earnestly), — I am telling you the truth, 
Grace, they are destroyed, every one. 

Mrs. M., — Then why not let me look through that 
drawer? You used to keep them there. 

G., — Because {he hesitates) — because there are pa- 
pers there which I do not wish you or any one else 
to see. 

Mrs. M. {laughing harshly), — Do you think so 
trivial a thing as a lock will hide the secrets of a man's 
life ? Do you think you can keep hidden the records of 



35 

your career? Even tlioiigii you burn them, the very 
ashes will speak (her hand makes a gesture toward 
the grate and her voiee is almost a hiss in its intensity 
as she utters the final words). 

Gr. (harshlg), — There is no need discussing my life. 
The world- 
Mrs. M. {laughing ironically), — The world, the 
world, the world; you were always successful in de- 
ceiving the world, — the flesh you never tried to de- 
ceive, the devil you can't deceive. 

G., — It will be just as well if we both forget the 
past. 

Mrs. M.,— Forget the past! Can you forget your- 
self? You are your past. Your present is but the 
realization of your past. Your marriage is simply an- 
other woman added to your past. Do you dream the 
future has aught in store for you? No. no. The Robert 
Grantor you might have been, died so long ago, you 
cannot remember him. There is yet hope for me, for 
I am younger, with some instincts of decency which 
you did not kill ; but for a man like yon there is no 
future, — your life is done. 

G. (as he hears voices at rear outside portieres),^- 
Sh— sh — 

{She hastily adjusts her mask as Rector and doctor 
enter, talking in animated manner. Portieres are left 
partly open behind them. When they see Grantor and 
Mrs. M. — whom they do not recognize — they come to 
a standstill.) 

G. {slightly embarrassed), — Come in, come in, Rec- 
tor. Let me ])resent — {he pauses suddenly as Mrs. M. 
puts her fingers to his lips) 



36 

Mrs. M. {entirely self-possessed), — Mr. Grantor for- 
gets I am in mask and unknown. 

Eector (gallantly), — But if he is privileged, why 
keep us in darkness? 

Mrs. M., — One's host is always privileged. Besides, 
Mr. Grantor and I are such old friends I could hardly 
hope to deceive him. . . 

Dr. H. (looking at her keenly hut failing to recall 
her), — I thought I knew his friends. 

Mrs. M., — Not all, doctor. Mr. Grantor is a man of 
so many attachments, with so many interests — 

Eector (enthusiastically), — You are quite right. 
There is no man in the city more devoted to the wel- 
fare of the people about him. Only tonight I have 
persuaded him to accept the chairmanship of the 
Board of Trustees for the Home for — - 

Dr. H., — Ahem — ahem. 

Rector (confused, coughs, then recovers himself, 
and continues as if he had finished naming the Home 
for Erring Women), — a most worthy charity. 

Mrs. M., — I am sure Mr. Grantor would not permit 
his name to be associated with anything of an un- 
worthy character. 

G. (hastily), — I told you I should consider your sug- 
gestion, Rector. I have not yet made up my mind. 
(He looks toward opening in portieres. Several mask- 
ers are passing hall. He continues wearily.) Is it 
not time to unmask I 

Dr. H. (looking at ivatch), — It lacks a little of mid- 
night. 



37 

Eector, — But so little that I am sure you {he gal- 
lantly addresses Mrs. M.) will favor us and remove 
yours. 

Mrs. M. {shaking her head at first, then suddenly, 
as if a thought occurred to her), — Yes, I will remove 
mine on one condition. 

Eector, — And that is? 

Mrs. M., — That Mr. Grantor will remove his. 
{The doctor smiles.) 

Rector {mystified, looking toivard Grantor), — But 
Mr. Grantor is wearing no mask. 

Mrs. M., — Are you sure? Look again. 
{The Rector looks and shakes his head as if at a 
loss to understand her joke.) 

Mrs. M. {turning to the doctor), — And, doctor, what 
do you say? 

Dr. H. {forcefidly), — ^That every man wears a mask, 
even our worthy rector, here. ^ 

Rector {thinking he comprehends, and laughing), — 
That's not bad, doctor; I see, I see. We all have our 
masks, of course, of course, but in the case of our 
host here. I am sure you will agree that if he wears 
a disguise it is to hide the good deeds he does. 

{While the others have been speaking. Grantor has 
tvalked toward the table. He stands behind it nerv- 
ously, moving the things on it. He is anxious for 
them to go.) 

Mrs. M., — I congratulate you on your discernment. 
Will you not go with me to the ball "room? 

{Doctor and Rector follow her as she goes out 



38 

through portieres. She turns and looks toward G., 
hut he makes no move, only he luatches her from under 
his eyehroivs ivith one of his sidelong glances. 

■As they disappear, closing portieres behind them, 
G. quickly opens drawer, takes out package of letters, 
holds it under shade of lamp to see them better, and 
appears to be considering something carefully. He 
looks toward fire in grate.) 

G. (half aloud, to himself), — I must destroy these. 
{He goes to fire place, but the fire is low. He tries 
to start it into life by poking with poker, but there 
are only a few coals.) 

G. {straightening up impatiently), — No, the fire is 
too low. Tomorrow will do, — tomorrow, — tomorrow. 

{As he repeats these tvords absentmindedly, he re- 
turns to table, puts the letters back in the drawer, 
closes drawer and turns key, and puts key in right 
hand drawer. The lamp, ivhich appears to be going 
out, diverts his cdtention, and he peers under the 
shade to see tvhat is the matter.) 

G., — There is no oil in this lamp. It is going out. 
{He fusses with ivick, but light groivs dimmer. At 
length he blows out the light.) 

G. {continuing), — I will have it filled. 

{He goes out, left. The stage is left in semi-dark- 
ness, only the flickering light from the fire-place. 

Mrs. G., in mask, appears suddenly at portieres. She 
slips in, draivs them together and holds them, but in 
such a manner that she can look down hall toward 
left, as if expecting some one. The light falls on her 
face and. neck. In a moment she steps back a step or 



39 

tno (Uid Capf. S. enters quickly. He carefully draws 
portieres together.) 

Mrs. G. {as lie shuts out light, the stage darkens), — 
How dark it is in here. 

Capt. S., — So much the better, no one will come. 

Mrs. G., — But I am almost afraid. Let us get over 
here where it is not so gloomy. (She goes toward 
fire place.) This room has always terrified me. 

Capt. S.— Why? 

Mrs. G., — I don't know, I don't know, but when- 
ever I come in here it seems as though I am in- 
truding; those eyes (she points to portrait over man- 
tel) follow me with such a sneering look, as much as 
to say: Well, what are you doing here in the Grantor 
house ? 

Capt. S. (peering at portrait), — Who is it! 

Mrs. G.,— His-father— 

Capt. S., — Oh — h— I remember hearing (he pauses) 
and is this the room in which he died? 

Mrs. G., — Yes. 

Capt. S., — There were strange rumors about the 
manner of his death. 

Mrs. G. (in low voice), — No one knows just how it 
happened, but a woman's voice was heard, a cry, a 
scream, and then silence. When the servants came 
they found him alone, — dead. 

Capt. S. (again peering at portrait), — A handsome 
man. 

Mrs. G., — If the light w^as better you would see the 
sneer in the eyes. 



40 

Capt. S., — I can feel it as it is. I do not wonder 
the room terrifies you. 

Mrs. G., — It seems filled with shadows that move, 

Capt. S., — And so it is with phantoms of people 
you do not know. Friends and companions of your 
husband's youth. Why did you ever marry into this 
lonely house? 

Mrs. G., — Why! Why does a woman do anything 
in this world? We do not know our own motives. 

Capt. S.,^-It was not love — 

Mrs. G., — You should not say that. It was some- 
thing finer and purer than love. It was gratitude for 
what he had done for my mother. So far back as I 
can remember, he was our good friend and benefactor. 
I did not know it at the time, but it was he who sent 
me to school, and afterwards to Europe. He looked 
after the little property we had, and must have doubled 
our slender income from his own. 

Capt. S., — I am told he is selfish. 

. Mrs. G., — No, he is so generous. He gives in so 
many different ways, and he is so thoughtful. Why, 
when he used to come to see us he always brought me 
some beautiful present. At first my mother was 
happy to see my delight, but before she died she put 
away everything he ever gave me. 

Capt. S.,— Why did she do that? 

Mrs. G., — I do not know. She did not say a word, 
but one day, not long before she died, she gathered 
the things all together and put them away. 



41 

Capt. S. {bitterly), — So you married because you 
were grateful. 

Mrs. G., — I married because I thought I ought to, 
because I was sure she would wish it. 

Capt. S., — Wish you ought to marry a man old 
enough to be your grandfather! 

Mrs. G., — It was not a question of age. 

Capt. S., — No, nor of love. 

Mrs. G., — No, nor was it a question of love. It was 
a question of duty. For all his goodness to my mother 
I felt I owed some return. 

Capt. S., — That you should sacrifice yourself, your 
life? Do you dream for a minute that your mother 
with all her wealth of love and sympathy would ap- 
prove this marriage were she living? 

Mrs. G., — I have tried to think she would. 

Capt. S., — I did not know her well, but I recall her 
pale, sad face, her low, musical voice. I remember 
how she used to look at you, — 

Mrs. G., — Yes, almost as if she knew she would not 
be with me very long. And she used to go to her 
room and cry so hard. I could hear the muffled sobs 
through the closed door. There were times when some 
terrible grief oppressed her. Once I heard her talk- 
ing with Mr. Grantor, begging, pleading about some- 
thing; I did not hear what they said, but he tried to 
calm and sooth her as gently as if she was a child. 
He was always just that way, patient and kind when 
she was nervous and almost hysterical. 

Capt. S., — He did not ask you to marry him until 
after she died! 



42 

Mrs. G., — No, I was left alone, and it seemed for 
tlie best. 

Capt. S. (bitterly), — And yon had told me you would 
wait. 

Mrs. G., — I was but a girl then, just out of school, 
scarce more than a child. 

Capt. S., — You loved me? 

Mrs. G. {in a low voice), — Yes. 

Capt. S., — And you love me still? {He leans toward 
her and takes her hand.) 

Mrs. G. {agitated and drawing away), — You should 
not ask. It is not fair. {Then as he approaches 
closer and attempts to take her in his arms.) No, no, 
no, do not, I beg of you. Let me go. 

Capt. S. {intensely), — But you love me. 

Mrs. G. {breaking away from him), — No, please 
don't, oh, I am so happy tonight. It is like a dream, 
the flowers, the music {music heard faintly), listen, 
there, it is a waltz, You must dance with me, just 
once more, our last dance in mask, — come, come — 

{She starts toward rear entrance. ' Reaching out 
her right hand, she takes his to urge him along. She 
is near the portieres and about to press them back 
with her left hand. 

Grantor has entered unperceived at left and stands 
in the shadow by the door, tuatching them. He does 
not recognize them. Capt. S. holds back.) 

Mrs. G. {repeatijtg) ,— Come — 

Capt. S. {holding her back), — Tell me first that you 
love me. 

Mrs. G., — Tonight you are my prince. 



43 

Capt. S. {(Jrairiiig her toward him fiercely), — Take 
off the mask. 

Mrs. Gr., — No — no — let me go — let me go — listen, the 
dance, the dance. Oh, some one will come. {He has 
drawn her head back on Ms shoulder. The music is 
heard. She ceases to struggle. He hisses her. Her 
arm steals about his neck as he kisses her, and she 
mur}nurs), — My prince, my prince. 

{The clock begins sloivly striking midnight. She 
starts back.) 

Mrs. Gr. {startled), — It is midnight. They will miss 
us. AVe must hurry back. {She pushes back portieres 
iritli left hand so that light falls full on her face. There 
is a blast of a horn.) The warning signal. It will 
sound once more to unmask. My dream is over. I 
am awake. 

Capt. S. {still holding her right hand), — Take yours 
off here, for me. 

{She disengages her 'right hand and quickly re- 
moves mask. Her face is in the light. Grantor, who 
has watched them ivithout emotion, save annoyance, 
expressed in gesture, recognizes his wife. He gives 
an exclamation which attracts their attention, and he 
starts forward toward them, staggering, and clutching 
at the air in their direction as if he woidd reach them 
with his trembling fingers. He totters, puts one hand 
to his head, then clutches at his collar ivith the other, 
and sinks into large easy chair ivhich is at right of 
table. He has suffered a stroke ivhich for the time 
being renders him almost helpless. His face ivorks. 



44 

he utters guttural sounds.), — Angli — angli — angh 
angli — angh — 

{His eyebrows move convulsively. He still knows 
his wife, and when she rushes to him and kneels by his 
side he glares at her, and ivorhs his fingers as if he 
tvould clutch her, but he can lift his arm only a little.) 

Angh — h — h — {sound dies away in long exhalation). 

{The clock continues slowly to strike the hour. 

Capt. S. has called the doctor, who hurries in at 
rear, followed by Rector. The captain remains in 
background. The doctor hurries to Grantor's side, ex- 
amines him quickly.) 

Dr. H., — It is not fatal, some sudden shock. A 
glass of brandy. 

{Rector rushes out, right, for glass of brandy, re- 
turns instantly. Doctor gives Grantor a swalloiv; it 
revives him a little.) 

Dr. H., — He will be better in the morning. 

{There is a second blast upon the horn, sounds of 
laughter and merriment in the ball room. A band of 
revellers, unmasked and swinging their masks, fly past 
the opening at rear, crying), — Unmask! Unmask!! 

{Curtain.) 



(AUTHOR'S PROOF. RETURN TO AUTHOR.) 



45 



ACT 11. 

Scene — Drawing room in same house. 

Windows in rear, looking out upon avenue. Two 
entrances at riglit; two at left, the larger toward front 
leads to hall and front door. Room richly furnished. 
Coverings, hangings, etc., ver}^ handsome, hut rather 
sombre. Heavy, carved table at right. It holds some 
beautifully bound books, bric-a-brac, etc. Settee or 
sofa to left of table facing audience, but slightly ang- 
ling toward left rear. Handsome and comfortable 
chairs. A large easy chair at left, near center. Pictures 
on walls. Two or three beautiful vases, bronzes, etc., 
on pedestals. In short, about such a drawing room 
as one would find in the old-fashioned home of an old 
and wealthy New Yorker. 

Time- 
Afternoon of the next day. About five o'clock. 

As curtain rises, John is discovered entering very 
carefully through rear door at right, and closing door 
after him noiselessly. He then walks quickly but 
softly to rear door on left, which leads to library, 
turns key in door and puts key in pocket. He goes 
out left, front, closing door after him. In a moment 
voices are heard in the hall and John ushers in the 
Rector. 

Rector (his tone expressing his profound sympa- 
^%)j — How is Mr. Grantor this afternoon, John. 

John, — Much better, sir. He has quite recovered 
his speech. 

Rector, — I am so glad to hear that. I was afraid 
last night it was a stroke that might prove fatal. Ah, 
your master is too good a man to lose. The com- 
nmnity needs such men. 

(John's face wears a queer expression, and he says 
nothing.) 



46 

Eectoe {continuing), — You have been witli Mr. 
Grantor many years? 

JoHNy — Nearly twenty, sir. 

Eectoe, — Then you know his good qualities better 
than I. 

John {with a queer look), — Yes, sir. 

Eectoe,, — You say the doctor is here? 

John, — He has been here most of the day, sir. It 
is not easy to control Mr. Grantor. He will not stay 
in his room. 

Eectoe, — Strange ! 

John, — He is very much changed, sir. He is very 
restless. 

Eectoe, — Will you be good enough to tell the doc- 
tor I am here? 

{John hoivs and goes out right rear. The Rector 
ivalks to rear and looks out one of the luindoivs. In a 
moment or so Dr. H. enters right rear. Rector turns 
to greet him, clasping the doctor's hand in both of 
his effusively.) 

Eectoe, — How is our good friend? tell me. 

Dr. H. {shortly. He looks careivorn and ivorried), 
• — A sick man. 

Eectoe, — But John just said he is better. 

Dr. H., — And so he is, but none the less a very sick 
man. 

Eectoe, — He is up? 

Dr. H.,— He will not remain in bed. Ever since he 
regained the use of his limbs he has been bent upon 



47 

leaving his rooniT He seems possessed to get down 
here and into tke library. 

Rector {surprised), — The room where he was 
stricken. 

Dr. H., — Yes. When he was not quite in his right 
mind he kept mumbling something about a drawer, a 
drawer. 

Rector {tapping his head), — He is not quite right. 

Dr. H. (thoughtfully), — I don't know. He seems 
all right now, but he is changed. I have never seen 
so great a change come over a man in so short a time. 

Rector,— What was it, a stroke of paralysis. 

Dr. H., — At first I thought so, but from the rapidity 
with which he has recovered I should say he suffered 
some sudden shock, rather than a stroke. Something 
must have happened that we know nothing of. When I 
question him, he grits his teeth together and gives 
me a queer look, a look I have never seen in his 
eyes before. There is something he will not tell. (The 
doctor icalks to and fro a moment absorbed in thought, 
then he continues, half to himself) No, it was not a 
stroke of paralysis, but some kind of a shock that has 
upset his poise and shaken his marvellous power of 
self control. 

Rector, — I do not understand. He was such a 
strong man. 

Dr. H., — Strong? Yes, in outward appearance. But 
his strength was a good deal like that of the crust 
of the earth, — apparently solid, Init thinly covering a 
seething, moulten interior. A shock, the thin, out- 
ward crust parts and the fires of hell are visible. 



48 

Rectob- (puzzled), — You mean — 1 

Dr. H., — I mean that every man's real self is hid- 
den by an outward crust of appearances, thick and 
rigid with some, thin and brittle with others. In 
Grantor's case, the outward coating is rent beyond 
repair. 

Rectok (wringing his hands), — How very unfortu- 
nate! 

Dr. H. (cynically), — Rather. The best of us need 
the protection of our cloak of hypocrisy. 

Rector, — May I see him? 

Dr. H., — There is no objection. He is quite him- 
self most of the time. He may be down here any 
moment. He is very restless. 

(John enters at left forward entrance.) 

John, — Captain Stanmore to see Mrs. Grantor. I 
have told him, — 

Dr. H. (interrupting) , — Show him in here. I wish 
to see him. 

(John goes out same entrance.) 

Dr. H. (to Rector), — The captain may know what 
happened last night. He must have been in the room 
for it was he who called me. 

Rector^ — I remember, I remember. He was stand- 
ing near the entrance to the hall. 

(John opens door and ushers the captain in. He is 
carefully dressed in conventional afternoon dress.) 

Capt. S. (speaking quietly), — I called to inquire 
after Mr. Grantor. 

Dr. H. (to John),—YoVi may tell Mrs. Grantor that 
Captain Stanmore wishes to see her. 



49 

Capt. S., — If entirely convenient. 

{The docior boics aiuJ hij geshire indicates that it 
is. 

John goes out right rear. There is a slight pause, 
during which the three men stand rather stiff and ill 
at ease. The doctor breaks the silence.) 

Dr. H., — Mr. Grantor is better. He is able to be 
np. In fact he may be down any moment. 

Capt. S. {startled), — Down, — here? I — I did not 
expect to .see him. 

{The doctor has eyed the captain closely.) 

Dr. H. {dryly), — No? — then you may have an agree- 
able surprise in store. 

Capt. S. {fully recovering his self-possession and 
speaking calmly and earnestly), — I am very glad to 
hear he is so much better. 

Dr. H., — Yon were present in the room, Captain, 
when, when Mr. Grantor suffered this attack. 

Capt. S., — I was. 

Dr. H., — Then you can tell us just what happened. 

Capt. S. {quickly), — Does he not remember? 

Dr. H., — I do not know, but if he does he will not 
tell. 

Capt. S., — Then it is not for me to speak. 

Dr. H., — So then there was something. 

Capt. S., — I did not say so. 

Dr. H., — You were there with Mrs. Grantor? 

Capt. S., — You will pardon me, doctor, but it seems 
to me you are asking a third party {he indicates him- 



50 

self) concerning matters wliich your patient, it seems, 
will not discuss with you. 

Dr. H., — It is the duty of a physician to ascertain 
the cause of his patient's condition. 

Capt. S., — From the patient himself, if he is in the 
full possession of his faculties. 

Dr. H. {sharply), — But if he is not? 

Capt. S., — Then Mrs. Grantor is the one to whom 
you should apply for information. 

Dr. H. {angrily), — So you refuse to tell what oc- 
curred in the library last night. 

Capt. S. {calmly), — I refuse to tell you at the pres- 
ent time. I have no desire to conceal anything from 
any one who has a right to know, but so long as Mr. 
and Mrs. Grrantor are silent, I certainly cannot speak. 

Eectok {suavely), — I think the captain is right, doc- 
tor. It is quite plain, quite, to my mind. Unless Mrs. 
Grantor {he pauses suddenly as Mrs. Grantor enters 
at right rear. She is pale and her face shoivs the 
fearful strain she has been under. She is dressed in 
black. As she speaks to the captain^. her hands, which 
work nervously, and her lips, which twitch slightly, 
shoiv the effort she is obliged to make. to control her- 
self. She is on the verge of a nervous collapse. The 
doctor knows it and is apprehensive). 

Mrs. G., — You wished to see me, 'Captain? 

Capt. S. {speaking with constraint), — I called to en- 
quire after Mr. Grantor. 

Mrs. G., — You are very kind. He — he is better,— is 
he not doctor! {She appeals to the doctor like a per- 
son slightly dazed.) 



51 

Dr. H., — Very much, I can assure you. 

(There is an airlirard pause.) 

Dr. H. {continuing pointedly), — I was asking the 
captain about what occurred last night — 

Mrs. G. {hastily and nervously), — Yes — yes, I know. 
You wished me to tell you, but I could not {she catches 
her breath) I could not — think. {Her voice sinks as 
she utters the last word, and her face assumed a be- 
wildered expression. The Rector touches the doctor 
on the arm and shakes his head ivarningly not to 
pursue the subject. The doctor glances at Mrs. 
Grantor keenly, then nods an assent to the Rector 
and the two go out, right rear.) 

Capt. S. {so soon as the Rector and doctor disap- 
pear, he starts toward her and seizes her hand. She 
lets him take it unresistingly, but it lies limp in his. 
She passes her other hand over her eyes as if to clear 
her faculties), — You are looking ill. Tell me what has 
happened. 

{He leads her toward sofa.) 

Mrs. G., — I do not know. It is all so like a dream, 
the ball, the music, the masks, I can scarcely think, — 
and you were there. 

Capt. S. {softly)— Ye^. 

Mrs. G., — I have not slept since. 

Capt. S., — Your eyes show it. You need rest. 

Mrs. G., — But I can't rest. I can't rest. I close my 
eyes and try to sleep, but like an ugly nightmare I see 
him struggling and clutching at the air. I hear him 
try to speak, then the signal, the horn, and the loud 
calls, ''unmask! unmask"; and it seems as if the 



52 

masks that you and I wore were snatched away by some 
invisible power and we stood revealed in all our guilt 
and shame. {He tries to soothe and calm her, hut she 
continues), — He must have seen, he must have been 
there in the shadow all the time, and he did not know 
me until the clock struck and I took ot¥ my mask, but 
{despairingly) he knows me now. 

Capt. S. {trying to reassure her), — You must blame 
me, not yourself. What you did, you could not help — 

Mrs. G. {as if she had not heard him, and looking 
straight ahead, almost as if he ivas not present), — and 
I have tried so hard to be true to him, to be a faithful 
wife, so hard all these years. 

Capt. S., — You forget that you loved me before- you 
became his wife. 

Mrs. G., — But you went -away, and I was left alone. 

Capt. S., — I left you with your mother. 

Mrs. G.,— She died. 

Capt. S., — And he took advantage of her death, of 
your loneliness, to win you. 

Mrs. G., — You must not say that, you must not say 
that. He was always so good to her and when she 
was gone I had no one else. You were 'way off on 
the other side of the world. You had not written for 
months and months — 

Capt. S., — I was fighting savages and sick with the 
fever. 

Mrs. G., — I did not know, how could I know that you 
would ever come back to me? 

Capt. S., — I had told you I loved you. 



53 

Mrs. G. {sniiliiig sadly), — A man does not find it 
difficult to say that. {He starts to resent her ivords, 
hut she presses lightly on his arm and continues), — 
Forgive me, I do not mean that. I am not quite my- 
self. What I wish you to know and feel very sure of 
is that I did not marry because I had forgotten you, 
because I had ceased to love you, but because I felt 
that it was my duty to, that I owed something to the 
memory of my mother, to whom he had been the kind- 
est, most generous, the best of friends. 

Capt. S. {bitterly), — So you gave him your youth — 

Mrs. G., — I gave him the best I had, all, all, save 
love. That I did not have to give. 

Capt. S., — And you love me still! 

Mrs. G., — You must not ask me, for if I did and 
could not deny it to myself, I would deny it to you. 

Capt. S. {icith exultation), — And your eyes would 
belie every word your tongue might utter. You can- 
not deny it. Oh! Alice, my love, my sweetheart, you 
are still mine though (his voice becomes intense) mar- 
ried to another. 

Mrs. G. {looking at him intently and drawing hack a 
little), — Yes, I am yours, in so far as the ghost of a 
woman who is dead can l)elong to a man who is living. 
The Alice you knew is dead. She loved you. She loved 
you so long as sJie lived, and her uneasy spirit loves 
you still. But the woman you see beside you, the 
woman to whom you are now listening, she is not the 
Alice you knew. She is another and different being, 
a counterfeit presentment that cannot love. 



54 

Capt. S., — But last night you were mine, you put 
your arms about my neck, you kissed me, — 

Mrs. G. (interrupting), — Last night we moved in an 
enchanted world. Time was generous and retraced 
his relentless steps. I was once more a girl, you were 
once again a lover. You spoke and I listened, drinking 
each word as the parched traveler laps the cool waters 
of a crystal spring. I forgot myself and dreamed you 
were a prince come to awaken me from a long and 
sluggish sleep. In my dream I saw you bend over 
me, I felt your arms about me, your warm breath 
upon my cheek. You kissed me and then the clock 
struck midnight, the horn, the signal to unmask, and 
I awoke. Oh, why was it a dream? And if a dream 
why did I not sleep on — forever? 

Capt. S., — It was not a dream. No more than today 
is a dream. I loved you last night. I love you now. 

Mrs. G. {looks at him searcMngly), — No, it is not 
the same. Your voice does not sound as it used to. 
There is a different look in your eyes. You are no 
longer a prince from fairyland, but a man, with all 
the impulses, all the passions of a man. We have 
dropped our masks. We see ourselves as we are. 

Capt. S., — Then you no longer love me? 

Mrs. G., — I love what I saw in you last night. I 
love the man I remember from ^ve years ago. But 
you have changed. 

Capt. S. {trying to make light of the matter), — That 
much older, that is all. 

Mrs. G., — No, you are different. It is not time that 
has made the difference, but life. In a day, in an 



55 

hour, in a inoment, in the twinkling of an eye we 
change. A single bitter experience may change a 
woman beyond redemption. Everything we do, every- 
thing we think, every secret wish is betrayed some- 
where, soinehow. Nothing is hidden for long. Look 
at me. {She looks searcliiugly in his eyes and he 
tries to }tieet her gaze, hut it is difficult. She shakes 
her head mournfidly) ^ — You are not the same. There 
are secret depths in your eyes which you do not wish 
uncovered. There is the look of guilt. I see the 
vague shadows of other women. Who are they? 
Whence do they come! What did they mean to you! 

Capt. S., — Nonsense, how perfectly absurd. You are 
nervous, excited. 

Mrs. G., — It may be, but I seem to see things more 
clearly than ever before. In every voice there is a 
false and artificial ring. Even my servants move about 
witli the hollow smirk of deception on tlieir features, 
as if they too knew things they would not disclose. We 
live in a world of lies. Tlie life we lead is one long 
conventional self-satisfied lie. 

Capt. S., — I do not understand you, Alice, you never 
used to talk that way. 

Mrs. G., — No, for until now my eyes were only partly 
opened. I saw as a child, I heard as a child, I thought 
as a child, but now I see, — I see, I am awake. It was 
you who aroused me, — you, when you kissed me last 
night. 

Capt. S. (looking at her more boldly), — Look once 
more and you will see that I love you — 

Mrs. G. {looking at him), — Yes, but not in the old 



56 

way, not as the boy first loves the girl, timidly and 
shrinkingly. It is another love that I see, a stronger 
and fiercer love, the love of hot desire. It was that 
love which I felt in your kiss, it was that love which 
opened my eyes. 

Capt. S., — If my love is fiercer it is because it haei 
smouldered all these years, feeding on itself. On the 
eve of battle I used to dream of you, in the midst of 
conflicts, savage and bloody, you were present like an 
invisible angel, shielding and protecting me. I have 
loved you as no man ever loved a woman. 

Mr. G. (pressing his arm so as to induce him to 
turn his face toward hers), — But you ha^e loved others, 
too. 

Capt. S. (avoiding her gaze), — No. 

Mrs. G. (with conviction, and slowly), — With your 
lips you say, no. A louder, clearer voice says, yes. 
Why try to deceive me now, now when all deception 
between us is impossible? 

Capt. S. (impatiently), — If I have known others it 
has not been in the same way^ 

Mrs. G., — No, not in the same way you once loved 
me. A man can never love but once in that way, but 
you have loved others as you love me now. 

Capt. S., — No, you are wrong, I love you as I have 
always loved you, just the same — 

Mrs. G., — Stop, think a moment; was the kiss you 
gave me last night just the same as the one you gave 
me when we parted five years ago? That was our 
first kiss. I shall never forget how my heart thrilled 
and how my soul was filled with pure delight when 



57 

your lips barely touched mine, so chastely, so rever- 
ently, it was something less or something more — who 
knows f — than a kiss. But last night, last night, you 
devoured my very being. It was the triumph of the 
man over tlie woman. I could feel your exultation in 
the beating of your heart. You crushed me with your 
strong arms. My lips were red with blood — 

Capt. S. (beside himself,) — Stop! stop, — or — by the 
gods, I will kiss you now. (He seizes her, draws her 
close to him. She struggles.) 

Mrs. G., — No, no, not again. I beg of you (she fights 
irifJi (ill her strength) not again. [For a second she 
gets Jiiin at arm's lengthy crying), — I will not, I tell 
you I will not {hut with resistless poiver he draivs her 
to him, and puts her head hack; she begins to yield, 
hut murmurs), — Oh, it is brutal, — it is brutal. {She 
struggles vainly. Her face is tiir^ied toward his. 
There is a look of triumph in his face as he looks down 
upon hers, and waits a second to exidt in his victory. 
Slowly his lips approach hers, but just as he is about 
to kiss her, there is a noise at the front entrance, left. 
He turns his head quickly, hut before they have time 
to separate, Mrs. Manley enters, the door closing be- 
hind her. She sees them and stops suddenly near 
door. Mrs. G. sinks hack on sofa, burying her face in 
her hands.) 

Capt. S. {so surprised he can only exclaim), — Grace 
Manley ! 

Mrs. M. {confused and embarrassed), — Captain 
Stanmore, you here? I — I thought you were in San 
Francisco. 



58 

Capt. S. {trying to appear at ease), — I came east a 
week ago. 

{There is an awkward pause. Mrs. G. has recovered 
a little of her self-possession.) 

Mrs. M., — I came to see Mrs. Grantor on a matter 
of importance. I would not let the man announce me. 
I am sorry. I will go — 

Mrs. G., — No, no. I beg of you, remain. I feel bet- 
ter now. I am quite myself. A sudden faintness, — 
Captain Stanmore was kind enough to — 

Mrs. M. {her, lip curling slightly), — I understand. 
The captain is most thoughtful and attentive. I re- 
member when we were crossing from Manila to Hono- 
lulu — 

Capt. S. {interrupting sharply), — ^^Shall I not ring 
for a glass of water? 

Mrs. G., — No, but if you will excuse me a moment 
I will get a flask of salts ; that is all I need. 
{She disappears through front door at right.) 

Capt. S. {sharply), — Not a word about that trip. 

Mrs. M. {ivith a sneer), — What a pity my entrance 
was so badly timed. It quite spoiled your little scene. 
I assure you the tableau was most effective. 

Capt. S. {agitated) , — I beg of you to keep quiet. Do 
not tell her — 

Mrs. M., — That you made love to me as fiercely as 
you are now making love to her. {She laughs.) 

Capt. S. {embarrassed), — I — I knew Mrs. Grantor 
before she was married. 

Mrs. M., — And you are renewing an old friendship. 



59 

How very touching! Your embrace was purely Pla- 
tonic, I suppose. {She pauses a second, looks at the 
Captain, who Is too confused and irritated to reply.) 
So, you have been in New York a week and have not 
been to see me. 

Capt. S., — I — I have been very busy. 

Mrs. M., — So it seems. 

Capt. S., — I have intended calling, but I have had 
no time, — I will come tomorrow. 

Mrs. M., — You will be too late. I sail tomorrow 
noon. 

('apt. S., — Promise me you will not tell her {he 
points toward door where Mrs. G. disappeared.) 

Mrs. M^ — Do you really think so much of her as all 
that? 

Capt. S., — I loved her before she was married. I 
love her now. It is the only decent love I have ever 
known. 

Mrs. ]\r., — Thank you! How very flattering. You 
forget those moonlight nights on the Pacific, the flow- 
ery j)atlis and shadowy walks of Honolulu {she is mock- 
ing him) ; you forget your protestations of fierce love 
and everlasting devotion, — dear me, and I, like a weak 
and foolish woman, listened and believed the gallant 
captain from Manila {ironically and with a gestwre 
toward door where Mrs. Grantor tvent out). Your only 
decent love! 

Ca])t. S., — Forgive me, Grace, J did not mean that 
in just the way it sounded, but you know what I mean. 
You are not free. I could not love you as I once 
loved her. 



60 

Mrs. M. (bitterly), — But you could love me as you 
now love her. 

Capt. S., — No, not quite the same, for I loved her 
when I had the right, when I thought she would be my 
wife, and that old, pure love is not quite dead. 

Mrs. M. (looking at him a moment, then extending 
her hand sympathetically), — It is all right. Jack. You 
are a soldier, and I have been through too many cam- 
paigns myself to take a little defeat like this to heart, 
— but (she looks at him half seriously, half smiling) I 
did almost fall in love with the big captain from Manila, 
whose voice was so low and musical, whose caress was 
as tender as a woman's, whose kiss — s (her voice sinks 
and fades into a ivhisper, and she looks at him through 
half-closed eyes, leaning close to him). 

Capt. S. (draiving himself up and inhaling a deep 
breath to throiv off the spell of love manner), — Don't, 
for God's sake, don't — not here. 

Mrs. M. (recovering herself with a clear little laugh), 
— You are afraid. Ah! well, never mind. It is all 
over. That little episode is a memory, — and not an 
altogether unpleasant memory, is it Jack! 

Oapt. S. (nervously), — No, no, Grace, but be care- 
ful. I would not have her suspect for the world. 

Mrs. M., — Nor I. I have some sense of decency 
left, myself. You knew the wife before she was mar- 
ried. I knew the husband — 

Capt. S.,— You ! 

Mrs. M., — Yes, is there anything strange about that? 
Eobert Grantor in his day has been a fascinating man. 



61 

Capt. S., — But 1 never lieard lie eared anything about 
women. 

Mrs. M., — There was one good thing about him, he 
kept his aflfairs to himself. If I had not been Mrs. 
Charles Manley, I might have been Mrs. Robert 
Grantor. 

Capt. S., — Does she know! {He ynoUons toivard 
floor nhere Mrs. G. disappeared.) 

Mrs. M., — No, but I came here today to get some 
little mementoes of that affair, and may be obliged to 
tell her. 

Capt. S. (impulsively), — Don't, for she believes in 
him, — {he pauses) and yet if she knew {he turns over 
ill his mind how the knowledge might aid him) — if she 
knew, perhaps — 

Mrs. M., {divining his thoughts), — She would listen 
to you? It is not difficult to follow a man's thoughts 
when he is in love. No, — I wish 3^011 luck, but I will 
not help you to the extent of undeceiving her regard- 
ing her husband any more than is necessary. She is 
unhappy enough as it is, without letting her know the 
sort of man to whom she is married. 

{Mrs. G. enters at right front. She presses her 
handkerchief to her face nervously, and she has a 
small, gold enamelled flask in her hand, which she 
drops on the table. Mrs. M. goes toward rear to leave 
them alone a moment.) 

Mrs. G. {trying to speak with composure), — It was 
very kind of you to call. Captain. I shall tell Mr. 
Grantor — 

Capt. S. {approaching close to her and taking her 



62 

outstretched hand. He speaks rapidly and in a loiv 
voice)., — I shall call this evening to see you,— alone. 

Mrs. G. (apprehensive) ., — No, no, my hnsband — 

Capt. S., — If you cannot see me, send word. I will 
understand. 

{He hows low and goes out, left front.) 

Mrs. G. {turning to Mrs. M., ivho .comes fonvard), — 
You wish to see me? 

Mrs. M., — Yes — I was at the ball last night. 

Mrs. G., — Indeed! I do not remember seeing you. 

Mrs. M., — I left just before they unmasked. This 
morning I heard Mr. Grantor was taken suddenly ill. 

Mrs. G., — Yes, very few knew it. We kept it from 
our guests. It was nothing serious. He is better to- 
day. 

Mrs. M., — But at his age and in his condition a 
stroke is apt to prove fatal. 

Mrs. G., — It was not a stroke. The doctor hardly 
knows what it was. He is better. 

Mrs. M., — Perhaps for a few days, but who knows 
when he may have another attack. 

Mrs. G., — No one can tell. We must hope for the 
best. 

Mrs. M. {harshly), — If he dies it will be no loss to 
you. 

Mrs. G. {not trusting her ears), — Pardon me, I do 
not think I understood you. 

Mrs. M. {repeating still more harshly), — I said, if 
he dies it will be no loss to you. 



63 

^[rs. G. {irifh (lignitij)^ — He is my husband. 

Mrs. M., — He might have been your grandfather. 

Mrs. G. {siariing to rise), — If you came here to 
discuss — 

Mrs. M. (quickly and in a different tone), — No, no, 
forgive me. (Mrs. G. resumes her seat.) I did not 
know that you still believe in Robert Grantor. 

Mrs. G., — Why shouldn't I? He has never been any- 
thing but kind to me. 

Mrs. M. (bitterly), — Kind! Is it kind in a man of 
sixty to marry a girl of twenty? (Mrs. G. makes a 
gesture of dignified protest.) There, never mind, but 
I have known him longer,' perhaps better, than you. 

M rs. G., — Yes, I have been told you were old friends, 
l)ut he has never mentioned 3''our name. 

Mrs. M., — Have you ever heard him mention the 
name of any woman he has known intimately? He is 
discretion personified. His lips are well trained. His 
tongue is under perfect control. I have often won- 
dered how he could keep from betraying himself. Think 
of the strain day and night. 

Mrs. G. (bewildered), — The strain, — betray himself 
— I do not understand. 

Mrs. M., — No, not now, perhaps, but some day you 
will, some day his self-control will give way. A man 
cannot play a part all his life. (Mrs. M. is silent a 
moment as if thinking. Mrs. G. ivaits patiently and 
icearily.) 

Mrs. M. (with a gesture, changing the subject and 
coming to the o1)ject of her call), — I am sailing for 



64 

Europe tomorrow to be gone a long time. While I 
am away lie may suffer another shock or stroke, or 
whatever it is. He is an old and worn-out man. He is 
played-out and may die any day. I have a favor to 
ask of you. 

{Mrs. G. looks at her and motions her to proceed.) 

Mrs. M. {continuing ivith some hesitation and em- 
barrassment)^ — I said I knew your husband. It was 
before you were married, before he had met your 
mother, before he knew you. It pleased him to show 
me some attention, even to be devoted — 

Mrs. G. {surprised)^ — Devoted — to you! 

Mrs. M. {cynically), — Oh, that was nothing for him. 
Devotion to women has been his one great weakness, 
though I did not know it at the time, and was foolis'i 
enough to believe he loved me. 

Mrs. Gr. {listening amazed), — And he made love to 
you, to you, the wife of another ; I cannot believe it. 

Mrs. M. {luith a sneer), — Is there anything strange 
in that! Is not that the order of the day in what we 
are pleased to call society! In that. respect he is no 
worse than other men we both know {she lays signifi- 
cant stress on the last three ivords and looks at Mrs. 
G. pointedly). 

Mrs. G. {controlling herself ivith an effort), — Go on, 
what is it you wish of me! 

Mrs. M.,- — I was silly enough to write your husband 
some letters, — remember he was not your husband 
then; it did not concern you at the time. He has those 
letters still. I wish to get them. 

Mrs. G., — How can I help you! 



65 

Mrs. M., — I can tell you where he keeps them. Will 
you get them and you give them to me? 

[Mrs. G., — I have no right — 

Mrs. M. {inter riipting fiercely)^ — He is now your 
husbriud; the letters are mine. 

Mrs. G., — But you wrote them to him. 

Mrs. M., — I wrote them to him after he had prom- 
ised to marry me if I could get a divorce. If it had 
not been for you he would have married me. I told 
him so, I wrote him so in black and white. It is for 
your interest as well as mine that those letters should 
be destroyed. 

Mrs. G. {yielding before the other's fierce earnest- 
ness), — AVhere are they? 

Mrs. M. {pointing toward left, rear door), — There, 
in the left-hand drawer of the table in his library. He 
keeps it locked, but sometimes leaves the key in the 
drawer at the right. I know, for again and again 
have I seen him take them out and read them, — that 
was when he wished to convince me of his love. 

Mrs. G. {pointing toward door to library — the left 
rear door), — You have been in there with him, — alone? 

Mrs. M., — Is there anything shocking about that? 

Mrs. G. {repeating, tvithout noticing the tone of 
Mrs. M.'s last cjuestion), — In this house, — in that room 
with him alone. {Then turning to Mrs. M. suddenly) 
I do not believe it. 

Mrs. M. {harshly), — It doesn't matter to me whether 
you believe it or not. I am telling you where he keeps 
the letters women have written him. AVhen you find 



66 

them perhaps your eyes will be opened. If he should 
die, all his papers would fall into the hands of 
strangers. We must destroy those letters at once, to- 
day. 

Mrs. G. (hesitating) , — If what you tell me is true — 

Mrs. M., — True! Why should I lie to you. I know 
they are there, for I have seen them. There is no 
one here — go and look. 

Mrs. Gr. (nervously), — Not now, — I am afraid some 
one — 

Mrs. M., — Then I will. You stay here, and if any 
one comes, you can say you have — (she goes to door 
ivhile speaking and tries to open it) It is locked. 

Mrs. G., — It wasn't locked a little while ago. 

^ Mrs. M., — Can we not get in the other way! 

Mrs. G. (apprehensively) , — No, — no. I would not 
dare. The man is in the hall. 

Mrs. M., — Yes, I know, he watches that room for his 
master. Last night he came in while I was looking. 
I told him I was in search of a fan, but he knew bet- 
ter. Can you not send him out on some errand! 

Mrs. G., — Not now. He would suspect. He may 
have recognize you at the door. Perhaps later, to- 
night, when all are asleep, I can steal down — I will try, 
and if I find them I will send them to you in the morn- 
ing, early. 

Mrs. M., — You must find them. 

Mrs. G., — 1 will try — (she rises as an intimation thai 
there is nothing more to he said. Mrs. M. also rises). 

Mrs. M., — You must get them. They are of no use 



67 

to liiiii. If he had liad any sense of decency he would 
have destroyed them long ago, but he keeps them to 
read and gloat over when alone, just as he keeps me- 
mentoes of other conquests over women. 

Mrs. G., — I cannot believe you. I will not listen to 
you. It is not possible. 

Mrs. M. {shrugging her shoulders), — That is your 
lookout. It is not my business to undeceive you. AIT 
I am interested in is to destroy the evidences of my 
own idiotic folly. 

(She is about to leave, ivhen the Rector enters, right 
rear, bland and suave. He recognizes Mrs. M. at once.) 

Kector {cheerfidly and ivith a f ability), —Ah, Mrs. 
Manley, so charmed to see you; a pleasure, I am sure. 

(They shake hands, he taking hers in both of his 
effusively.) 

Rector {continuing soberly), — You called to inquire 
about Mr. Grantor? I remember you knew him, you 
and he were — were — {the Rector pauses suddenly and 
there is an a irk ward silence). 

Mrs. M. {coolly), — I did have the pleasure of know- 
ing Mr. Grantor, slightly, years ago. I called to see 
Mrs. Grantor. 

Rkctor, — And she needs the support and sympathy 
of all her friends, for, I regret to say, Mr. Grantor 
seems very much broken in health. He is not the 
same man, I assure you; you would scarcel}^ recog- 
nize him. I did my best to cheer him up. I tried to 
divert him by talking of the work of the parish, of the 
cliarities in which he has been so actively interested, 
but 1j(» paid no attention to what I was saying, no at- 



68 

tention whatsoever. That is not at all like him. For 
the time heing, the noble impulses which have charac- 
terized him seem paralyzed. 

Mrs. M. {with significance), — A strange case, surely, 
where so slight a thing as a sudden shock should para- 
lyze all the good in a man, and leave the bad unscathed. 

Eectok^ — Ah, there is no bad in Robert Grantor. He 
is one of the few men against whom no one can utter 
a word of reproach. A spotless and unselfish life. Am 
I not right, Mrs. Grantor? 

Mrs. G. (evasively), — I had always thought so — 

Rectoe, — There, there, you see, Mrs. Manley, and 
a wife ought to know. 

Mrs. M.,— Yes, she ought to know — more than she 
usually does. (She starts to go.) 

Rectok,— May I not see you to your carriage? 

Mrs. M., — You may go farther. I will take you up 
town if you are going that way. 

Rector, — You are very good, very good, indeed. It 
is a nasty day and I was on the point of calling a 
cab. (Turning to Mrs. G.) I will call again, tomor- 
row, my dear. I wish you to feel that you can rely 
upon me, that I am with you in spirit every moment. 
(He is clasping Mrs. G.'s limp hand in both of his in 
his effusive manner. Mrs. M. hy her attitude and ex- 
pression betrays her slight faith in the value of his 
protestations.) 

Mrs. M. (bluntly), — If you are going with me you 
will have to hurry. Come. 

(The Rector again shakes Mrs. G.^s hand most 
warmly and he and Mrs. M. go out, left front. 



69 

Mi\s. G. Hatches them go out, and the door close 
behind them. She then stands a few seconds as if 
undecided. Then turns softly to door at rear right, 
listens a second, then crosses rapidly to door at left 
rear, which leads to library. She softly tries door, 
finds, as Mrs. M. did, that it is locked. She tries 
again, then steps forward and presses button. 

John enters, left front.) 

Mrs. G., — The door to the library is locked. 

John {very respectfully), — Yes, ma'am. 

Mrs. G.— AVhy! 

John {a little confused) , — Mr. Grantor is ill and I 
did not know — 

Mrs. G. (sharply), — You will please unlock it. .There 
is no reason why any room in the house should be 
locked. 

John, — But last night there was a lady in a mask 
at Mr. Grantor's table. 

Mrs. G., — She was looking for her— fan. 

John, — So she said, ma'am. 

Mrs. G., — I know all about it. I do not care to have 
doors locked as if there were thieves in the house. You 
will get the key and unlock the door. 

(John goes out, left front. 

Mrs. G. goes to rear and stands a Y\ioment looking 
out, her left hand raised and grasping the heavy cur- 
tains, her head resting against her arm. Her attitude 
suggests dejection and weariness. It grows darker 
outside. The stage has gradually darkened. Marie, 
a pretty French girl, enters, right front, and lights 



70 

Imnp on table. The large shade throivs a soft light on 
table and sofa. Mrs. G. slowly draws the curtains over 
the window where she is looking out. She turns toward 
maid.) 

Mrs. G., — Marie, is the doctor still with Mr. Grantor? 

Maeie^ — Yes, madame. 

Mrs. G., — Will you tell him I would like to see him 
a moment, and you can sit with Mr. Grantor until I 
come up. 

(Marie goes out, right rear. Mrs. G. goes to the 
other window^ looks out in the rapidly darkening ave- 
nue, draws curtain slowly, then comes forvjard to 
table, bends over, adjusts the ivick of the lamp, and 
sits doivn on sofa. John enters, left front, goes to 
library, inserts key and unlocks door, but leaves it 
closed.) 

John {turning to Mrs. G.), — ^^Shall I lea^^e the key in 
the door, ma'am? ' 

Mrs. G., — Certainly, why not? 

JoHN^ — Mr. Grantor never used to leave the kej^ in 
the door. He did not care to have the servants — 

Mrs. G., — That was before he was married, John; 
I suppose in those days no woman was ever permitted 
to step foot within the library? {She speaks deliber- 
ately.) 

John {confused, hesitates, then replies evasively), — 
He always wished me to look after the room. He does 
not like to have anyone touch his papers or the things 
on his table. 

Mrs. G., — Then we must be very careful while he is 



71 

sick to see that no one goes in there. {John hows.) 
That is all. 

{John goes out, left front. Dr. II. enters, right rear.) 

Dr. H., — The maid said yoii wished to see me. 

Mrs. G., — Yes, I wish to know just how Mr. Gran — 

{site catehes herself) how my husband is. 

Dr. H. {sloulg), — I really do not know. It is a 
queer case. So far as his body is concerned he is 
nnich better, though weak. 

Mrs. G., — Do you mean to say that his mind is af- 
fected f 

Dr. H., — No, not his mind, exactly. He can think 
clearly enough. His mind is even more alert than 
before. 

Mrs. G., — Then what is it, if it is not his body or 
his mind.? Why is he not himself, .why does lie act 
so queer! 

Dr. H., — There is some more subtle injury. If such 
a thing was possible, one would say his moral nature 
is partially paralyzed, but that is absurd. 

Mrs. G., — Why absurd. Is not our moral nature 
as much a part of us as our mental or physical! 

Dr. H. {sceptically) , — I dare say, only we physicians 
do not undertake the care and cure of it. That is the 
Rector's business. 

Mrs. G., — I used to think so, but it is not true. The 
priest may console and comfort with visions of an- 
other and better life, but he cannot cure our present 
ills. It is the duty of the physician to keep us so well 
and strong, so sound and sane, that we cannot help 
being good. 



Dr. H. {indifferently), — You may be riglit, a sound 
body usually means a sound conscience. There are 
those who insist that every sin is the symptom of some 
bodily ill. 

Mrs. G.,— And they are right, for I know, I know. We 
must be strong to be good. 

Dr. H.,— There are many good people in the world 
who are physically weak. 

Mrs. G., — They are good because they have not been 
tempted beyond their strength. They are good be- 
cause it is their nature to be good, and they cannot 
help it. But there are others who have to fight to 
be good, fight with all their might and main. They 
need strength. Oh, doctor, I am so tired and weak; 
there are times I hardly know what I am doing. My 
mind is all awhirl. I want you to help me, to give 
me something to make me strong so that I may resist 
temptation. 

Dr. H. {sympathetically), — You, — and do you, too, 
have your struggles? My poor, dear child, what can I 
do for you? What can I give you? 

Mrs. G., — Part of your strength, part of your clear 
way of looking at things, part of your great under- 
standing. I wish to know and see, so that I may not 
stumble and fall. 

Dr. H., — You are speaking in riddles. 

Mrs. G. {vehemently), — No, no, I am not. I am tell- 
ing you, oh, so plainly, as plainly as words can ex- 
press a woman's thoughts. I am groping in the dark. 
1 am like one surrounded by mystery. The life, which 
seemed so plain to me, turns out to be a world of 



73 

shadows, of gloomy, mysterious .shadows, moving like 
l)liantoms across my path. I thought it was all as 
clear as day, hut now I feel the mystery ahout me. If 
you do not help me I shall be lost — lost. 

Dr. H. {(if a loss what to do), — But what can I do? 
Shall 1 give you something to make you sleep! 

Mrs. G. {frightened), — No, no, not to sleep. I do 
not wish to sleep, for when I sleep I dream, and dreams 
are more sinful than life; sleep levels the barriers and 
lets our evil nature loose. It stills the conscience and 
frees each vicious impulse. I have been asleep all 
these years. I wish to sleep no more. I would be 
awake. I wish you to help me to open my eyes, to 
see things as they are. 

Dr. H., — And do you think you would be any hap- 
pier if you saw plainly and understood the life about 
you? 

Mrs. G., — Not happier, perhaps, but stronger. I 
have been trying to live in a child's paradise, trying 
to persuade myself that everybody is good, but last 
night the masks fell away and no one seems the same. 
My own is gone and I dare not see myself in the 
mirror. Look at me, tell me, who am I! Am I the 
girl you knew four years ago, or am I a woman whose 
every feature bears the mark of guilt and wretched- 
ness? Tell me. {He shakes his head. She continues 
rapidly, without giving him time to answer) Tell me, 
who are the people about me? Who is the man I am 
living with as husband? You know, for you have 
known him all his life, while I, a woman, have never 
known him at all. Tell me truly, what manner of man 



74 

lie is? You offer me sleep that I may rest; give me 
knowledge that I may be strong. 

(In her hysterical agony, she has sunk at his feet, 
hanging on his knees and looking up at him beseech- 
ingly. He clasps her head in his hands gently and 
caressingly, and is about to answer, when loud screams 
are heard outside right rear door and Marie rushes 
in, her hair dishevelled and her ivaist torn.) 

Makie (almost hysterical), — Madame, madame, oh, 
madame — 

Mrs. Gr. (starting to her feet), — "What is it, Marie! 

Marie (sobbing), — Oh, madame. Monsieur Grantor, 
he try, — he try — (she sobs convulsively and ivith one 
hand gathers her waist together at the neck.) 

Dr. H., — You ask me what kind of a man your hus- 
band is. Look! (He points at Marie.) There is your 
answer. 

Mrs. G., — No, I cannot believe it. He is not him- 
self. He is mad. 

Dr. H. (soberly), — Let us hope so, but it may be 
he betrays himself for the first time in his life. 

(Strange sounds are heard outside right rear door. 
Grantor is folloiving in search of Marie. He makes 
queer, inarticulate sounds), — angh — angh — angh — 
Here — here — here (sounded through his nose, with his 
lower jaw hanging. The ivords are not pronounced, 
but nasally grunted.) Angh — where — where — where 
— where — where! (same indistinct nasal utterance — 
rapid, petulant, rising to shriller accent). 

(He pulls door open with a jerk and stands just in- 
side, a tottering wreck. His face is haggard and 



75 

drauii and dccphj lined. Beneath his shaggy eye- 
broHs his eyes move quickly and furtively. His li2)s 
tiritch and at times his jaw moves convulsively. He 
Jias great difficulty in controlling his nerves. He is 
like a man' nliose nervous system has collapsed all 
of a sudden. With great effort he at times exhibits 
some of his old self -control, but he cannot maintain it. 
As he catches sight of Marie cowering just a little in 
front of him, he does not seem to see the doctor and 
Mrs. G., but he stretches out a trembling hand toward 
the girl, and with a queer laugh repeats inarticulately 
as before) xVngli — here — here — here. {He totters to- 
ward her with a leer on his face.) 

Marie {terrified, speaking in scarce more than a 
whisper), — Oh, madame, madame {she rushes to Mrs. 
G. for protection. The doctor takes a step toward 
Grantor. 

Grantor pauses suddenly, his hand still partly out- 
stretched. He begins to realize the others are pres- 
ent. He begins to regain control over himself. His 
hand drops, but it twitches nervously at his side. His 
head droops a little and he eyes first his luife, then 
the doctor, then his ivife, peering at them from be- 
neath his eyebrows. His jaw still hangs down, giving 
the lower part of his face a vacuous expression. But 
soon his jaw begins to move convulsively; he is getting 
control of it gradually. During all this time Marie is 
croucliing close to Mrs. G., and both women are watch- 
ing him with the fascination of horror. The doctor 
remains motionless, icaiting. He has put his finger 
on his lips to enjoin silence. 

Soo)i Grantor straightens up a little, and ivith a 



76 

feeble gesture brushes his hand across his eyes and 
forehead.) 

Dr. H. {in a low voice), — He is regaining control of 
himself. 

{Mrs. G. motions Marie to go out, — the girl goes 
out, right front. Grantor's eyes folloiv her and he 
makes a gesture toward her as if he ivould detain her, 
hut he immediately looks furtively at' the doctor and 
his wife, and restrains himself.) 

Mrs. G. {going toward her husband, but almost tim- 
idly), — Eobert, what is the matter? What has hap- 
pened? 

G. {after several efforts to speak, during which his 
jaiv moves convulsively and his hands shake), — Angh 
— angh — angh {incoherent nasal sounds, leading up to 
the word "nothing," which is uttered through nose, 
with jaw half open) Nothing — nothing — nothing — {he 
takes several deep breaths, drawing them in with a 
rattle like a snore, and exhaling hoarsely. He gradu- 
ally gets control of his jaw, closing it several times). 

Dr. H. {taking him by the arm), — Come sit down. 

G. {trying unsuccessfully to shake the doctor off), — 
No — no — no — no no — o — o, no — NO {for a second he 
pushes the doctor's hand away, but the doctor again 
takes his arm and leads him to the easy chair near 
left center, in a state of collapse.) 

Dr. H., — A glass of brandy, quick. 

{Mrs. G. rushes out, right rear. The doctor leans 
over G. and listens to his heart. Mrs. G. returns ivith 
brandy, which the doctor gives G. In a moment the 
latter revives, breathing deeply. Doctor returns glass 



77 

partly filled with h randy to Mrs. G., who puts it on 
table.) 

Dr. H. (tu riling to Mrs. G.), — He is better, he will 
be all right in a few moments. In these sudden attacks 
be sure and give him a little brandy. It will be wise 
to keep it near at hand, for a moment's delay might 
cost him his life. 

Mrs. G., — Is there nothing else we can do? 

Dr. H., — Xo, — he will come out of this in a moment 
or two. But these crises are bad for him. He must 
be kept quiet. He needs a trained nurse. 

Mrs. G., — A woman? 

Dr. H., — No, a man. A woman would make him 
worse. And you must keep that maid out of his sight. 

Mrs. G., — She has been with me iiiore than a year, 
and I am sure she is not to blame. » 

Dr. H., — So far as she is concerned her only fault 
is she is a woman. She must keep away from him. 

(While the doctor and Mrs. G. are talking, G. sits 
for a few moments quite still j his head a little for- 
irard on his chest. Then his gestures and convulsive 
movements indicate returning control over Jiimself. 
Tiro or three times ivhile they are talking he raises 
liis right hand in their direction as if to attract their 
attention, hut at first makes no sound.) 

Mrs. G.,— But wliat is it? AVhat is the matter with, 
liini? 

Dr. H., — It is the reaction, the collapse following 
sudden excitement. You should not have sent Marie 
to liis room. 



78 

Mrs. G.,— I did not think — 

Dr. H.,^From now on you must think, for your- 
self and for him. He is no longer responsible for 
what he does. 

Mrs. Gr., — Do you mean he is losing his mind? 

Dr. H., — No, — but his mind is losing control of his 
body. I may as well speak plainly, or concealment 
is no longer possible. Your eyes are open. You see 
the manner of man you have married. All his life 
long he has been what he is now, what he was a half 
hour ago with that French maid, only the animal pas- 
sions, the vicious impulses which he has fostered and 
nurtured have been kept in subjection by an iron will, 
and he has presented to the world a seemingly blame- 
less life. He has won the respect and approbation of 
men — who did not know him as I do. But his passions 
and impulses have grown stronger, with age, while 
his powers of resistance, his will, have grown weaker. 
He reached the crisis last night. Something happened 
which shook his self-control, which unmasked his ani- 
mal nature and made it visible in all its repulsiveness. 

Mrs. Gr. {going close to the doctor), — ^^Shall I tell 
you what happened! He was not to blame. It was I 
— I — I. You say he lost control of the bad in him, — 
well, so did I. H he has sinned, so have I; we are 
both guilty. Oh, why did I ever marry? 

Dr. H. (trying to comfort her), — Listen, my child, 
do not magnify any fancied fault bevond its true 
proportions. You yourself are on the verge of a nerv- 
ous breakdown. You are not so strong as you were. 
Your powers of resistance are feeble. A woman in 



79 

your condition easily falls victim to temptation she 
readily resists when well and strong. The greatest 
curse of these lustful marriages between youth and 
age is that they sap the moral strength of the woman 
as well as the physical strength of the man. You — 
(The doctor pauses suddenly as he sees Grantor's eyes 
fixed upon them.) 

G. (sloirly and n-ith an effort. He still finds it some- 
what difficult to control his jaiv and the muscles of 
his face), — What — what are you two talking about? 

Dr. H. (bitterly), — About you. 

G., — AVell — well — well — well — what are you saying? 
That I am going to die — eh — eh — eh — eh — {he half 
laughs) that I can't live, and soon she'll be free to 
marry, to marry the man who {his voice strengthens 
and is guttural and hoarse) last night under my very 
nose — I saw him, I saw him, who was he, who was he? 

{He struggles to rise, hut sinks hack exhausted.) 

Mrs. G. {to the doctor), — Go, go, leave me with him. 

Dr. H. {as he starts to go), — Remember, if he shows 
signs of collapse, a little brandy, quick. 
{Doctor goes out left front. ) 

G. (raising hi )n self), — Jolm — John, where 's John? 

Mrs. G. (u-ith solicitude), — What is it you want? 
Can I not help you? 

G., — No — no — no. I want John. 
Mrs. G., — I will ring for him. 

(She goes to hell-push at side of room and touches it. 
John enters inimediately, right rear. She indicates 
that a. wants him. He goes to G.'s side.) 



80 

G. (motioning for John to come nearer, and speak- 
ing slyly, cunningly, so Mrs. G. will not hear), — Angh 
— here, here, here, here John. 

{The man hends over. G. puts his right hand on 
John^s arm to raise himself a little nearer the man, 
and with his left he indicates entrance to library ; his 
hand shakes) There, there, there, — has any one been 
in there, — speak, speak — speak — 

John {in a low voice), — No, sir, but the lady {he 
glances about at Mrs. G., — to see if she can hear). 

Gr. {shaking John's arm), — The lady, — the lady, — 
what lady, what lady, — what lady! — speak, man, 
speak — 

John- {leaning toward him), — The lady who was 
looking for her fan last night. 

Gr. {startled, and sinking hack), — Grace, — Grace, — 
here — {he pauses suddenly, looks at John cunningly 
and suspiciously) What did she want? ' 

John, — She came to see Mrs. Grantor. 

G., — My wife, my wife, to see my wife, — well, — well, 
—well — well, did they go in tlxere! . 

JoHN; — No, the door was locked. 

G., — She tried, — she tried, — she tried the door? 

John, — Yes, sir. I was on the inside and heard her 
try the door, but I had locked it and taken the key 
out. 

G. {laughing nasally and gutturally) , — Angh — angh 
— angh — so you locked the door — that's right, that's 
right, John. She's been there before, she knows, — 
she knows the way, — do you remember? angh — angh — 



81 

aiigli {suddenly irith suspicion) You say tlio door is 
locked ? 

John {shaling his head and replijing in a loic hut 
disti)ict foue), — No sir, not now. 

Gr. ((danned, grasping John's arm more convul- 
sirclij), — What, — what — why isn't it locked? Did I not 
tell you- — did I tell you? 

John (straightening up and speaking louder), — 
Madam ordered me to leave the door unlocked. 

G. (peers around the man to see Mrs. G., icho is 
standing near sofa), — She, — she told you — (half to 
himself, his fears aroused) Why — why^-why did she 
tell you that? (John makes no reply. G. peers more 
suspiciously at Mrs. G. His jaiu begins to work con- 
vulsively — the)i suddenly) You may go^ (rep eating 
quickly and giving the man a push from him) you 
may go — 

(John goes^ out, right rear.) 

(y. (waits until John has disappeared, then eyes 
Mrs. G. suspiciously. At length), — Here — here (he 
heckons to her. She approaches and kneels beside his 
chair. He looks at her sideicise from beneath his 
Jieavy eyebrows) What — what do you want in there! 
(He puts the question in a hoarse tone.) 

Mrs. G. (confused), — Why, nothing, only it seemed 
so strange that the door should be locked. 

G. (recovering his strength and self-possession), — 
Would it have seemed so strange last night if it had 
been locked so I could not enter. 

(She bows her head on the arm of the chair.) 

G. (continuDig), — But it wasn't locked. You thought 



82 

you were alone, but I stood there — there — there {he 
motions toward library) and watched you, heard him 
make love to you, — and I did not know you. I thought 
it was some other fool of a husband who was being 
duped by his wife, — and then you dropped your mask — 
you dropped your mask {Ms voice rises to shriller ac- 
cents). 

Mrs. G., — Listen, Robert, listen; it was the night, the 
ball, the music. I forgot myself. I thought I was in 
fairyland, a child once more. I did not mean to do 
wrong. I did not mean to be untrue. Oh, I have 
tried so hard to be faithful. I have fought so against 
temptations. It has been one endless battle ever since 
I was married {she is speaking now ivith desperation, 
and has risen to her feet^ her hands tightly clasped. 
The intensity of her words revives G. He leans for- 
ward to look at her). 

Gr., — Battle, battle, what do you mean! 

Mrs. G., — I mean that almost every man I meet, 
eyerj man we know, seems to think he can make love 
to me, and that I will listen because — {she hesitates). 

G.,— Why? Why? 

Mrs. G., — Because you are so much older than I 
am. That is the reason. It is not because I have 
done anything. It is not because I have listened to 
them. But they talk and act as if we were not mar- 
ried, as if you were not my husband, and I was not 
your wife; as if I was living with you against the 
laws of God. They look at me, they talk to me as if 
I was a common woman who had sold herself for a 
price. But I didn't, I didn't. It was not your money. 



83 

1 would not have married yon for all tlie wealth in 
the world. 

G. {suspiciousli/), — Then — why — why — did you 
marry me 'I 

Mrs. G., — Why ! Because I thought I loved you for 
what you had done for my mother. 

G. (starfiug), — For your mother! 

Mrs. G., — Yes. I married you because I believed 
that if she had lived she would have wished it. 

G. {half to himself), — Your mother,— your mother. 
She's dead. 

Mrs. G. {approaching and kneeling hy his side and 
speaking softly),— Ye^, — oh, you do not know what a 
blind faith she had in you. She used to talk to me 
about you until I, too, was filled with enthusiasm. With- 
out knowing it she stirred in my heart an admiration 
which was the reflection of her own. I looked upon 
you as little less than a god. My heart would beat 
when I met you in the street, and when you took my 
hand in yours, or so much as patted my head, I trem- 
bled all over. Until just before she died I knew no 
greater love than the affection I felt for you, but— 
{she hesitates) 

G. {his voice is hoarse'hut gentler), — Well — well— 
and then — . 

Mrs. G. {in a low voice), — I met another and there 
came into my life a new and different feeling. I 
learned to love, but I would not listen to the prompt- 
ings of my own heart. I was in love yet when you 
asked me to marry you, I said, yes. 

G., — And you loved another — 



84 

Mrs. G., — Yes, but lie was away, so far away I 
thought he had forgotten me. 

G., — And you married me on account of your mother ? 

Mrs. G., — Yes, and do you believe me when I tell 
you I have tried to do what is right, that I have fought 
just as hard as I can, that I have struggled until — 
until- 1 am tired. {She droops her head ivearily.) 

G., — But last night — last night, in there. 

Mrs, G., — That is the fiercest struggle of all, for I 
am fighting against myself— 

G.,— Who is he? 

Mrs. G. (moving hastily and iviping her eyes), — No, 
I will not tell you. There is no need. He will go away, 
away again, out of my life. He knows I will not 
love him. I have told him so. Be patient, Eobert, be 
patient. He will go away — ^very soon, and then there 
will be no one to come between us, no one. 

G., — But you love him still? You love him still! 

Mrs. G., — No, not the same. It is not the same. He 
has changed. His love is different. It is no longer 
sweet, and tender and pure ; it is like that of the other 
men; it is so hot and fierce it withers and kills mine. 

G., — Who is he? who is he? — tell me. 

Mrs. G.,— No. 

G., — I have a right to know. 

Mrs. G., — No, he came into my life before you asked 
me to be your wife. I do not ask you about the women 
you have known. 

G., — But he put his arms about you, he put his arms 
about you and kissed you — 



85 

Mrs. G., — I could not help it. I tried as hard as I 
could, but he was stronger — 

G. {agitated and speaking giitturally) ^ — He — he — he 
— kissed you, there, there, before my very eyes — 

Mrs. G. {pleading) J — Will you not forgive me, Rob- 
ert/ 

G., — Forgive you! No, no, I tell you, no. Here in 
my own house, under my own roof, before my very 
eyes you kissed him, — forgive you, no, never, never {he 
pushes her fro)}! him). 

Mrs. G. {looking at him and speaking slowly), — And 
has your own life been so free from blame you can 
put me away from you like that? I have confessed my 
fault, I have told you all. It is your turn. Who was 
the woman who last night in there, in the same room, 
begged you to return the letters she had written you, 
and what had she been to you? 

G., — She lies, she lies. There are no letters. 

Mrs. G., — Then you have destroyed them, for there 
were. How is it that she knows the most secret places 
in your own room, drawers I have never seen opened? 

G., — I tell you she lies, — there are no letters. 

Mrs. G., — Oh, Robert, I do not wish to know, I would 
like to close the doors on all those 'memories, on 
my own as well as yours. I wish to ])e true to you, for 
my own, — for my mother's sake. 

G., — Your mother, your mother, — why do you keep 
speaking of your mother, child? {He looks at her and 
speaks more tenderly.) 

Mrs. G., — Because she is my guardian angel. Her 



86 

spirit watches over me to keep me from doing* wrong. 
As you were good and true to lier, so I must be good 
and true to you. That thought helps to make me 
strong. You will forgive me for what I did last night, 
won't you Roberta You are kind and generous, you 
will forgive me — won't you — for her sake? 

G., — For her sake? For your mother's sake? {He 
looks at her from beneath his bushy eyebrows. His 
head nods slowly. He pats her head tenderly.) There, 
there, — we'll talk no more about it. We'll for — get it 
— for her sake. {His voice sinks and he seems to 
speak more to himself than to her. She takes his hand 
and presses it to her lips. There is silence for a mo- 
ment. He is thinking of the past. He again looks at 
her.) You remember your mother, child? 

Mrs. G., — Eemember her? Of course. It was only 
four years ago that she died. 

G., — Yes, yes, yes — to be sure. It seemed longer 
ago than that. {He has trouble in remembering ac- 
curately.) I thought you were only a child when she 
died. 

Mrs. G., — And so I was. A girl of eighteen, yet only 
a child at heart and in my knowledge of life, just out 
of school. Why, you used to come to the house and 
bring me boxes of candy. You see, you treated me 
like a child. I was only nineteen when we were mar- 
ried. Don't you remember? You used to call me 
your child wife ? 

G., — Yes, yes, you were only a school-gir], while I, 
I was nearly sixty, — an old man, old enough to be 
your grandfather, child. 



87 

Mrs. G.,— Rut you did not seem so old to me. You 
seemed more like a father. 

(t. (iritJi Ills queer nasal laugh), — Angli — angli — 
angli — whether father or grandfather I was too old to 
be your hus])and. You are still young, while I — I am 
an old and worn-out man. But I have tried to make 
you happy — I have tried — I have tried {his voice al- 
uiost breaks uith emotion), 

Mrs. G., — Yes, yes, I know, and I have been happy. 
I am now, if you will only forgive me and believe in 
me. 

G. {coitf'uiu'nig, as though he had not heard her), — I 
have given you everything you want — even the ball, 
the masked ball {he passes his hand over his eyes as 
though trying to recall the hall. Then he looks at her 
from the corner of his eyes and says in a harsh voice) 
that was the suggestion of the devil. 

Mrs. G., — But you did not object, Eobert. 

G. {he partly loses himself in his recollections), — No, 
no, no, — angh — angh — angli — I know, I know, I have 
been to those balls — it was the suggestion of the devil. 
I saw him stealing through the rooms and lurking in 
dark corners, whispering his damned suggestions to 
every woman who would listen, and then, and then, 
when she yielded he snatched away her mask. It was 
the devil's own carnival. 

Mrs. G., — We will never give another, Robert, never. 

G. {continuing without heeding her), — And when he 
snatched away the masks I saw you standing there 
with that man — his arms about you — you, you, my wife, 
— who was he — who was he! 

{He is becoming excited again.) 



Mrs. G. {putting her hand on his arm to each him), 
— There, there, Eobert. You promised not to ask. We 
were going to forget. Don't you remember, you said 
we would not speak of it again. Be kind and generous 
to me. Help me to forget, to forget him, to forget 
,myself. Let me be once more your child-wife. I will 
look up to you and worship you just as I used to in 
those days when you came to see us and I thought 
you were the dearest and best man on earth, I — (as 
she is speaking, Marie has entered, right front. Mrs. 
G's hack is toward the girl, hut G. has caught sight 
of her. His expression changes. His features tvork 
convulsively. His jaw drops. He returns to the ex- 
pression and manner of his first Entrance). 

Mrs. G. {looking at him ivith horror in her eyes), — 
Robert, — Robert, — what is it? What is it! {He strug- 
gles to his feet and starts toward Marie uttering the 
same almost incoherent nasal sounds) Angh — angh — 
angh — here — here — here — here — {Mrs. G. grasps him. 
He tries to shake her off to get at Marie.) 

Mrs. G. {seeing Marie and understanding), — Marie 
— it is you he wants, it is you, go {she struggles ivith 
him) quick— quick — my God, he is mad. 

{Marie disappears. G. collapses on sofa.) 

Mrs. G., — Brandy, where is the brandy? {She 
reaches for glass on table.) 

{Curtain.) 



(AlfTHOR'S PROOF. RETURN TO AUTHOR.) 



89 

ACT III. 

Scene, — same as in first act. 

Table at left is moved a little nearer center. There 
is a decanter of brandy with glass on table. 

Xo fire in grate. 

Portieres in rear closely drawn. Folding doors on 
other side of portieres. These doors are closed. AVhen 
opened they swing back in hall ont of sight. 

Hall when disclosed is very dimly lighted by light at 
left, which is not visible to audience. 

Hour, — between eleven and twelve at night of same 
day as Act II. 

As curtain rises the stage is dimly lighted by lamp 
on table. 

(John enters left, followed by the doctor, who has 
his hat in hand and is wearing his overcoat.) 

Dr. H., — He is very restless, but I think I can safely 
leave for the night. Remember, at the first sign of 
another attack, give him half a glass of brandy. He 
understands, and if you leave it where he can help 
himself it is all right. The important thing is a little 
stimulant at the right moment. 

John, — I understand, sir. 

Dr. H., — In the morning I will trv and persuade him 
to have a trained nurse. 
John, — A man, sir? 

Dr. H., — Of course. A woman would make him 
worse. And by the way, tell that French maid to keep 
out of his sight. 

(TJie doctor buttons his coat, preparatorij to going.) 



90 

John (pushes hack portieres, imipcks doors behind 
and throws them bach, disclosing dimly lighted hall), — 
You can go out this way, sir. 

(The doctor goes out, rear, leaving to left in hall. 
John follows, leaving doors open, portieres slightly 
apart. 

In a moment John returns. He carefully closes 
and lochs doors, draivs portieres. Moves a chair back 
into its place, arranges things to close room for night. 
Glances at his watch), — Nearly twelve o'clock. 

(He goes to table, puts things in order, turns down 
lamp a little preparatory to blowing it out. He is 
leaning over lamp, blows tivo or three times to blow 
it out when Mrs. G. enters quickly at right. John 
pauses, surprised.) 

Mrs. G. [nervously), — What are you doing? 

John, — I was about to put the light out, ma'am. 

Mrs. Q., — Has the doctor gone? 

John, — He has just gone. 

Mrs. G., — I wished to see him. Did he leave any di- 
rections? 

John, — He said he would send a nurse, a man, in 
the morning. 

Mrs. G.,— Was that all? 

John, — He said that if Mr. Grantor had another 
attack to give him a little brandy immediately. 

Mrs. G., — Yes, 3^es, I understand, a little brandy. Is 
that brandy in that decanter? 

John, — Yes, ma'am. 

Mrs. G., — You may take it to his room. 



91 

John, — If you please, there is some in Mr. Grantor's 
room, on the stand at the head of his bed. 

Mrs. G., — Very well, then leave this here. You 
may go. 

John (hcsitat'nig), — Shall I lock up, ma'am! 

Mrs. G., — No, Marie will see to the door. 

John {perplexed what to do), — But Mr. Grantor, 
ma'am, gave me orders — 

Mrs. G. {scarce listening to what he is saying), — 
Never mind, you may go. I shall not need you any 
more tonight. As you go up, look in Mr. Grantor's 
room and see if he wants anything. 

{John bows a)id goes out, right, Mrs. G. waits until 
John has disappeared, then goes quickly to door at 
right and listens to see if he has really gone. She 
then goes to rear, unlocks doors and looks into hall, 
and listens agai)i. She then moves softly to door at 
left, opens it and calls), — Marie, Marie, {in a loud 
whisper. Marie appears and after carefully closing 
door follows Mrs. G. toward center). 

Mrs. G., — A gentleman may call to inquire after Mr. 
Grantor. I wish you to be near the door and when 
you hear steps, open before he rings, before he rings, 
do you understand? 

Marie {in a frightoied tone), — Yes, madame. 

Mrs. G., — You will tell him Mr. Grantor is better. 
If he should wish to see me you can show him in here. 

Marie, — Yes, madame — 

Mrs. G., — There, now, stay close by the door so you 
can hear anyone come up the steps. 



92 

(Marie goes out rear, disappearing toward left. Mrs. 
G. draws portieres and stands for a time with her 
hack to portieres which she clutches together ivith her 
right hand. She looks furtively about room, then tip- 
toes softly in direction of table. 

Once more she listens at the door at left. She then 
moves quickly to table and tries the draiver to left. It 
is locked. She makes a search in draiver at right for 
key, finds it, tries it in left drawer and opens draiver, 
seating herself in chair behind table, she proceeds to 
examine contents of drawer by the aid of the lamp, 
which she turns up a little. As she leans forivard the 
light falls on her face. Taking out a package of pa- 
pers and photographs, she looks at the latter one by 
one.) Photograplis, old, old photographs. I wonder 
who they are. {She passes them, one by one through 
her hands.) All women he has known, women he has 
loved. {Looking at one.) This one is hardly more than 
a girl in her teens, curls down her back. What is 
she, a mere child, doing with all these women? 'Could 
it be possible — ? {She pauses, puts her hand to her 
mouth and thinks; then with an effort) No, the thought 
is too horrible. He could not have loved them all. 
They may have been just friends. {She goes on taking 
things out of the draiver but does not find the pack- 
age of letters she is after. She comes to another 
photograph. Turning it over, she exclaims) My 
mother! {For a moment she looks at it, dazed; then 
the reaction comes and she sobs) My mother, my 
mother {with her handkerchief she wipes the dust 
from the photograph and kisses it again and again. 



93 

Then she quickly, nervously looks through ivhat re- 
mains in drawer. She finds a thin package of letters.) 
This must be the package. {She nervously unties the 
string which holds the papers wrapped about them. 
Removes mapper and looks at handwriting.) My 
mother's handwriting! They are hers. {She presses 
them to her lips, wipes her eyes with her handkerchief, 
which is on the table beside her.) AYritten to him in 
those days when lie was so good to us. And he has 
kept them all tliese years. {Again she kisses them. 
Then hastily puts some of the things back in the 
drawer, including her mother^s photograph. As she 
puts the other photographs back she says) It doesn't 
matter what they were to him or he to them, he was 
good to her. 

{She looks at the envelope, examines postmarks, 
picks out one envelope from the rest.) This is the last. 
It is postmarked only two months before she died. 
Written when we were in the White Mountains. How 
well I recall that last summer we spent together, how 
sad and sick she was. He was in New York and did 
not come to see us all that summer. I wonder why. 
Dear, sweet mother, she was so lonely and miserable 
that summer. I think she really wanted to see him. 

{She takes out letter and proceeds to read it) "Oh 
Robert, Robert, I have not long to live, a few weeks, 
a month or two at most. I would not be a burden 
longer than the summer." Mother, a burden, what 
does she mean? ''By autumn you would be free. Oh, 
I beg of you to marry me." To marry, to marry, it 
cannot be that she loved him {she- is almost afraid to 
read fartJicr). "You promised once, and I gave you 



94 

all a woman has to give. You promised, I believed 
you, I trusted you, I loved you. If you do not keep 
your word, that love will turn to hate. If you do not 
marry me I shall die cursing you — " 

{She drops the letter. The way she breathes and 
looks shows hoiv profoundly she is affected at the 
terrible revelation. At first she is dazed and mutters) 
Mother, mother, mother, — ^you loved him, — him — ^him, 
and he was not good to you, — {her voice becomes 
fiercer) he deceived you and you cursed him, — with 
your dying breath, — oh, my God, my Grod, and I gave 
myself to him; I married him because I thought he 
was so kind to you. {She breaks doivn, drops her 
head on her anns on the table and sobs convulsively. 
After a moment or two she lifts her head, and tries 
to dry her eyes. She is greatly agitated. She starts, 
thinks she hears a sound) What's that? {She calls 
in a loud whisper) Marie, Marie — Marie — {No one 
answers. She listens, but hears nothing more. Then 
she rapidly returns the remaining things to the 
drawer. Her manner shows she is laboring under in- 
tense excitement. She is not quite herself. She gets 
the things back in the draiver, except her mother's. let- 
ters, which she thrusts into her dress. She rises, 
stands and listens as if fearful some one is coming.) 
I must go away. I must go away. I must leave this 
house tonight. {She goes to entrance at rear and 
calls in loud whisper) Marie, Marie. 

{The girl appears, and looks at her mistress in 
amazement.) 

Mrs. G., — Did any one come up the steps? 

Makie, — No one, madame. 



95 

Mrs. G., — I thought I heard a sound. 

Marie {alarmed at her mistress), — I heard nothing, 
madame. 

Mrs. G. {loohing apprehensively toward door at 
left), — I thought I heard — liim — there. 

Marie, — Who, madame? 

Mrs. G. {seizing girVs arm and looking intently 
toward same door), — Him, {her voice is little less than 
a loud irhisper) him, — listen, — {she listens intently, 
Marie is frightened) did you not hear? {the girl 
shakes her head) he moves about like a cat. Sometimes 
in the dead of night I hear him stirring in his room, 
like one who cannot sleep, like a man whose conscience 
will not let him rest, there — there — there — did you not 
hear? {She clutches the girVs arm more tightly, and 
starts toward door.) 

Marie, — No, madame, I hear no one — 

Mrs. G., — I tell you he is there, listening, I will — 
{she rushes to door, throws it open; there is no one 
there. She looks and listens, passes her hand across 
her forehead to clear her dazed mind, turns hack in 
room, closing door, leans for a moment against door 
jamb to collect herself) I must get out of here, out 
of this room, out of this house, or I shall go mad. {Go- 
ing toward girl) My cloak, Marie, my cloak, get me my 
cloak. 

Marie, — Your cloak, madame, but madame is not 
going out so late — 

Mrs. G. {half mechanically) , — So late — so late; what 
time is it? 

Marie, — It is nearlv midnight — 



96 

Mrs. G., — Midnight, — did you say midnight f {She 
gazes about wildly) That is the hour when we all un- 
mask. Hark! {She listens. Very far off and muffled 
is heard the sound of the music of the night before. 
Marie does not hear it and looks at her mistress, 
afraid) don't you hear the music? the waltz? It is 
the last dance. Come, let us go, .he will be waiting. 
Where is he? Where is he? 

Makie (terrified), — Who, madame, who? 

Mrs. G., — My prince, the one, the one with whom I 
danced that waltz, who — (her voice dies aivay. She 
clutches at one of the portieres ivith her left hand, 
looks out in dimly lighted hall). The waltz, the waltz, 
— don't you hear it? (Marie shakes her head and by 
mute gestures expresses her sympathy and her fear. 
Music dies away.) And it was here we stood, here, 
when the horn sounded and they cried '^Unmask," 
and there, there, theee (her voice rises as she pointed 
toward left by table where Grantor stood the night 
before) I can see him now. (Her hands and arms indi- 
cate the gestures he used.) 

Maeie (frightened), — But there is no one here, ma- 
damb. 

Mrs. G., — I tell you I see him, with his bony hands 
outstretched, clutching the air; he tries to speak — he 
tries to speak — 

Makie^ — Who, madame, who? 

, Mrs. G. (slowly, and partly moving), — Who? — who? 
— the wretch my mother cursed. 

Marie (thoroughly alarmed at her mistresses condi- 
tion), — Oh, madame, I will call some one, — I will ring 



97 

— (she starts toirard hell ivMcli is on wall near door at 
left). 

Mrs. G. (rapidhj), — No, no, no, — stop {then more 
slowly as she regains eontrol of herself) A glass of 
water, — anything, there, — there, a little brandy. {She 
staggers haek and grasps bach of sofa to steady her- 
self. Then siuJis down on sofa ivhile Marie hurriedly 
pours out some brandy and brings it to her. She 
drinks it at a swalloiv, gasps and catches her breath 
as the fiery liquid nearly chokes her, but it revives 
her. Marie returns glass to table near decanter, ichich 
she leaves just beyond center of table toward center of 
stage.) 

Mrs. G. {partly restored, but still iveak),— Give me 
my cloak — my cloak. 

Marie, — Oh, madame, will you not go to bed! 

Mrs. G., — To bed, where? With whom? With him, 
and feel his hot, lecherous breath upon my cheek all 
night long! No, no, no. Never, never again will I 
sleep in this house of sin and death. I want to breathe 
the fresh, pure air of the street. I choke, I stifle here, 
— my cloak — quick, it is there in the hall, near the 
door. 

{Marie dares not disobey. She goes for the cloak 
and returns quickly ivith cloak on arm, but she puts 
her finger to her lips.) 

Marie, — There is some one on the steps. 

Mrs. G., — Open the door quickly, before he rings, 
quick. 

{Marie drops cloak on chair and hurries out. In a 
moment Capt. S. enters, rear. He pauses a second 



98 

to accustom himself to the dimly lighted room. The 
dim light in hall falls upon his face.) 

Mrs. G. {going up to him and putting her arms 
about his neck. She speaks in a tone of relief), — Oh, 
I'm so glad you have come. Put your arms about me 
and hold me close to you. (He folds her close to him.) 
— I — I am so afraid. 

Capt. S., — Afraid! Afraid of what? 

Mrs. G.,— I don't know,— I was just afraid, that's 
all,— I thought I heard strange sounds. {She looks 
about apprehensively.) 

Capt. S. {trying to soothe her, and speaking in tone 
of conviction), — This old house is no 'place for you; 
it is enough to drive anyone mad. 

Mrs. G. {in a ivhisper), — Yes, yes, he is mad; I 
know it, — I know it — 

Capt. S., — Who? — of whom are you speaking? Who 
is mad? 

Mrs. G. {passing her hand across her forehead in 
bewildered manner), — I don't know, — my head feels 
so heavy and I have such strange thoughts ; why, once 
I heard the music of the ball so plainly, and I thought 
I saw you standing near the door waiting for me to 
come for the dance,— our last dance; It was all. so 
vivid — there^there — {very faint, far-off sound of 
waltz, — just a strain, then silence) did you not hear? 

Capt. S., — No, — you are nervous, that is all. You 
will be better in the morning. 

Mrs. G., — Yes, in the morning. {She turns quickly 
to pick up her cloak) Come, let us go. 



99 

Capt. S. (surprised), — Go — go, where! 

Mrs. G., — Anywhere out of this house, — anywhere 
away from him. 

Capt. S., — But it is nearly midnight- 
Mrs. G., — Yes, yes, I know, — it is almost time to 
unmask. . (She breaks into a queer laugh) soon we 
shall see and know each other as we are, but now — 
now — {iiithout finishing the incoherent tvords she ashs 
in another tone) Did you not come to take me away? 

Capt. S. {not comprehending her strange request), 
— I have come to see you as I said I would. 

{She goes close to him and puts her arms about 
him.) 

Mrs. G., — Yes, you have come to take me away from 
here, now, tonight. 

Capt. S., — To take you away, where. I do not under- 
stand. 

Mrs. G., — Anywhere to get away from this horrible 
house where every room has its history of sin, where 
every secret drawer is filled with records of vice. 

{He puts his arm about her, holds her close against 
his breast and tries to soothe her.) 

Capt. S., — There, there, you are excited; what has 
happened? Tell me. 

Mrs. G., — Let us go, let us go. See, I have my cloak 
{she starts toward chair for her cloak) let us go. 

Capt. S., — But you cannot go out this time of night. 
Just think what it would mean. 

Mrs. G. {looking at him suspiciously), — You said 
you loved me. 



100 

Capt. S., — And so I do with all my heart. 

Mrs. G-., — And again and again you have begged me 
to give myself to you. 

■Capt. S., — Yes, because I love you and cannot live 
without you. 

Mrs. G., — Then take me tonight, now, now, I am 
ready to go with you. 

Capt. S. (luho has no desire to tangle himself 
openly)^ — But where could we go? We would be dis- 
covered. Your husband would know — . 

Mrs. G., — I wish him to know. I wish all the world 
to know that I fled from him as if he was a leper. 

Capt. S.,— But think of the scandal — 

Mrs. G., — Scandal, scandal, what do I care now for 
scandal? The scandal has been my living with him, 
with him all these years when people must have known 
he was my mother's — {she checks herself, looks at the 
captain furtively, then goes close to him) Tell me, you 
knew him before we were married? 

Capt. S., — Yes. 

Mrs. G., — And you knew my mother. {The captain 
hows his head ivithout replying.) Tell me, did you 
ever hear, — did you ever hear that he loved my mother ? 

{The captain is embarrassed. He turns his face 
away.) 

Capt. S. {evasively), — One cannot put much faith in 
idle gossip. 

Mrs. G., — Then there was gossip, people talked and 
shook their heads, and may be looked askance when 
she passed by. Oh, mother, mother, your only sin was 



101 

love, while I — I gave myself without love. {She 
breaks into sobs. He puts his arm about her and 
leads her toivards the sofa. She goes unthinkingly 
and unresistingly until they reach the sofa, ivhen she 
suddenly realizes he is not taking her aivay, that he 
is making love to her there. She stops, puts her hand 
on the back of the sofa, and resists his efforts to per- 
suade her to sit down.) 

Mrs. G., — What are yon doing? Where are yon go- 
ing? I will not sit down here {he tries to draw her to 
the sofa; she resists) No, I tell yon I will not. 

Capt. S. {persuasively)^ — Come, Alice, come. Yon 
are nervous and excited. Eest here a moment. {He 
exerts a little more force. She is compelled to yield a 
little.) 

Mrs. G., — No, not here, not here, take me away, take 
me away, take me away, anywhere, anywhere. {He 
gradually draivs her toivard him. He sits down and 
tries to draw her close beside him. He murmurs) 
Come, Alice, come. 

Mrs. G. {resisting violently and breaking away), — 
No, no. I tell you no. I will not sit beside you and 
let you put your arms about me. I will not kiss you 
in this house. 

Capt. S. {baffled and angry), — Then you do not love 
me? 

Mrs. G., — I love you too much to desecrate our love 
by so much as whispering it in this horrible room. 

Capt. S. {roughly), — Why not here as well as else- 
where! Is not this your home? 



102 

Mrs. Gr., — No, it is his. I have no right here. It is 
the home of other women. 

Capt. S., — But last night, here in this very room, 
by that door, you listened to me and I kissed you. 

Mrs. G. {passing her hand over her forehead in a 
dazed manner), — But last night, last night was a 
dream, you were a prince, and I — I was not myself, 
what was I! — oh, I remember, I was the sleeping 
princess. I was in a castle, — an old, old castle, like 
a dungeon. I was asleep in the shadows and in the 
darkness, and you came to me out of the bright and 
beautiful world of light, out of the realm of fairyland, 
and you put your arms about me, you kissed me and 
I awoke, — I saw you standing there {she points toivard 
entrance to hall) I heard music, beautiful music — {she 
pauses suddenly and turns toivard hall, listening in- 
tently. The strains of the music are heard, this time 
not so faintly) there, the music, — do you hear I It is 
our waltz, the last — the last before they all unmask. 
Come, come — {she urges him toward the entrance at 
rear. He goes a step or two, then holds her hack) 
Come, come, — don't you hear the music? We shall 
miss the dance. 

Capt. S., — Alice, Alice {he turns her about sharply), 
■ — There is no music. I hear nothing. {As she rouses 
herself at his words, the music suddenly ceases. She 
is limp and exhausted. He leads her gently to sofa 
and sits beside her, holding her hand in his. She looks 
at him through half-closed eyes, as though endeavor- 
ing to understand.) 

Mrs. G. {sloivly) ,—Did you not hear? 



103 

Capt. S.— What? 

Mrs. G., — The music, the waltz. {She turns her 
head and looks toward rear, almost expecting to sec 
maskers.) I heard it just as plainly as if it was last 
night. 

Capt. S., — It is your imagination. There is not a 
sound, not a soul — (there is a low moan outside at 
left). 

Mrs. G., — Hark! did you not hear that! 
(Again the iveird moan sounds through silent house, 
then all is still.) 

Capt. S. (in hushed voice), — It is the soughing of 
the wind through some vacant chamber. 

Mrs. G. (clasping his hand lightly and speaking in 
frightened tone), — This house is filled with strange 
sounds. We are not alone. We are never alone. The 
people we have wronged cling to us, they follow us like 
shadows. We each one of us move at the head of a 
procession of ghosts. 

Capt. S., — You must get rid of these morbid fancies. 
There is no one here. We are alone, all alone. There 
is no one stirring, no one to see, or listen (then plead- 
ingly and leaning toward her) Kiss me. 

Mrs. G. (again drawing hack), — Would you — would 
you have me kiss you here, — here, — in his house, in 
this room, where — where (she looks about furtively) 
perhaps he has made love to my mother? (She chokes 
rvith emotion.) It is not love, or you would not ask me. 

Capt. S., — But I tell you, Alice, I love you — 

Mrs. G. (rising suddenly), — Then take me away. I 



104 

will kiss you, I will love you, I will live with you, die 
for you, only take me away. 

Capt. S. {tries to hold her in his arms, he speaks 
passionately), — Yes, yes, I will take you away (she 
permits him to draw her to him), but not tonight, 
Alice, not tonight, my love {she struggles to free her- 
self. He tries to kiss her) Listen, listen, tomorrow, — • 
{he holds her closer). 

Mrs. G., — No, no, I say, no. If you kiss me, I shall 
hate you, hate you more than I do him {she points up- 
ivard and toward entrance at left, in direction of 
Grantor's room). Let me go, let me — go — {she strug- 
gles, hut in vain. He is too strong). 

Capt. S. {fiercely, as he draivs her head hack on his 
shoulder),- — No, no, I'll not let you go. You love me, 
you — love — me — {he kisses her) there. {She yields as 
she did the night before. The faint sounds of the 
ivaltz are heard. As he releases her, she assumes a 
listening attitude and makes quick, strange gestures 
like one out of her fnind.) 

Mrs. G., — The music, the waltz, — come, — come — come 
{she leads him toward the entrance, rear. He is 
frightened). 

Capt. S. {in a loiv voice), — Alice, Alice, — my love 
{she turns toward him. She comes to herself. The 
music suddenly ceases. There is a look of horror in 
her face). 

Mrs. G. {pushing him away from her with an ex- 
clamation of disgust), — ^Ugh! go — go— go — 

Capt. S. {beseechingly), — But Alice — 

Mrs. G., — Don't touch me, — don't touch me — or I 



105 

shall scream for help — you dropped your mask and I 
saw the beast in your eyes, — it is not love, it is not 
love, but lust. (Then in pitiful accents) I offered my- 
self to you and you would not take me, because you 
feared the world. When I begged you to leave me 
alone you put forth the brute force of the man to 
gratify the animal in you. Go, go, go (she holds hack 
the portieres and points toiuard left in hall). 

Capt. S. (impulsively), — Come, Alice, come, I will 
take you now, tonight. 

Mrs. Gr., — It is too late. 

Capt. S. (seizing her), — By heavens, I will not go 
without you. 

Mrs. G. (struggling), — Marie, Marie — (the captain 
draivs hack quickly. Mrs. G. almost hangs on portiere.) 

Mrs. G., — Go, — go, — I hear some one coming (she 
looks in direction of left entrance. Captain disap 
pears to left in hall. Mrs. G. follows quickly into hall, 
draws portieres hehind her, and turns and looks 
through toward door at left. 

Grantor slowly opens door at left and enters ivith 
feeble steps. His hair is somewhat dishevelled. He 
ivears slippers and has on a dressing gown which is 
open at the neck, showing shirt, without collar. He is 
haggard and very nervous, hut in fairly good control 
of his faculties. He pauses at door, closing it care- 
fully hehind him. He looks ahout, hut sees nothing 
in the dim light of the room. He steps unsteadily 
toward tahle and drops into chair ivith a heavy sigh. 
He is iveak. He rests his head on his right hand for 
a moment or two, the light from the lamp falling full 



106 

on his hag gar d features. With his left hand he 
fumbles at the neck-hand of his shirt aimlessly for a 
second, then his hand drops to his side. He breathes 
heavily. Mrs. G. accidentally makes a sound in hall. 
Rousing himself apprehensively, he makes the nasal 
sounds). 

G., — Engli — engli — engli {then peers under lamp 
shade toward rear entrance) who's there — who's there! 
{He listens. No sound.) Eng — g — {long-draivn, nasal 
sigh) I thought I heard a noise {he listens) John— John 
— {he calls, but no answer). It must have been — the 
wind, the wind outside the door. Strange — I cannot 
sleep. But when I close my eyes I see her face. I see her 
eyes filled with tears, — with tears, and I hear her 
voice begging me to marry her, — eng-h {he leans heav- 
ily on table. Rousing himself) I cannot rest until 
her letters are destroyed. {He turns to draiver and 
finds key in lock.) The key in the drawer! Who's been 
here? {he pulls draiver open) the drawer unlocked! 
What — what does this mean? Who has been here? 
{Again he looks about and calls) John, John, {no one 
answers). I told him to keep this room closed. {He 
takes out things hastily, nervously. He looks at the 
photographs.) Photographs {he laughs in senile fash- 
ion) eh — eh — eh — eh — I know you, — I know you all — 
and there's Jeannette, the youngest of them all {he 
kisses photograph. Then he stops suddenly, scratches 
his head and says in more matter of fact tone) but 
she's dead now, — ye — e — s, she's dead now, and it's 
a good thing she is, it's a good thing she is, for {more 
fearfully) when she was alive she used to hang about 
here and ask to see me. I can see her now, with her 



107 

golden curls and the ribbon in her hair, — {terrified at 
fancied vision) I can see her — I can see her. {He 
shades his eyes and looks in far corner. He pauses, 
strains his eyes, leaning his head doivn close to table 
and peering under lamp shade. Mrs. G. slowly parts 
the portieres and appears, standing quite still hetiveen 
the heavy hangings. He gazes at her as though fas- 
cinated for seemingly a long time, then in a hoarse 
whisper) Who are you? Who are you? Speak, you 
are not Jeannette, for she, she was but a child. {He 
grasps the table to lean further forward. Mrs. G. 
steps toward center.) 

Mrs. G., — No, I am not Jeannette, but I was only a 
child when you first knew me. 

{As he recognizes her he sinks back in his chair with 
something like a sigh of relief.) 

G. {sloivly, but distinctly, though his voice shotvs his 
tveakness), — What are you doing here this hour of 
night? 

Mrs. G. {tvith forced calmness), — I came to find a 
package of letters written by a woman — 

G. {with suspicion), — What woman? 

Mrs. G.,-^The woman who was looking for them last 
night. 

G. {relieved), — Yes, I know, I know, I know. She 
was here last night, looking for her fan, she said, for 
her fan {he laughs, then hoarsely) Well, they're 
burned, burned, burned long ago. They were not 
worth keeping. No, no you can tell her they are burned. 

Mrs. G., — But you did not burn all the letters in 
that drawer. There were some you thought worth 



108 

keeping. (As she says this he peers at her appre- 
hensively and pushes the draiver shut.) 

Gr. {looMng at her intently), — I tell you they are 
burned. Every one of tliem burned — 

Mrs. G. {drawing letters from her bosom), — All but 
these ; these you kept for me. 

Gr. (starting) ,— Those — letters! Whose letters are 

those? 

Mrs. G-., — My mother's. (His jaiu drops a little. It 
is with difficulty he controls himself.) 

Gr., — Where did you find them? 

Mrs. G., — ^^There in that drawer where you keep your 
trophies of victims, there with photographs of women 
who have loved you? 

G. (recovering his self-possession and speaking 
slowly), — Give me those letters. 

Mrs. G. (closping them to her bosom), — No. 

G., — Give them to me, I say. They were not intended 
for you, and if you read them — (he hesitates) . 

Mrs. G., — Well, and if I read them, what then? May 
not a daughter read her mother's letters? 

G., — Not those, not those. If you. value your peace 
of mind you will give them to me unread, and I will 
destroy them now, here before your own eyes. 

Mrs. G., — No, never. I shall keep them so long as I 
live. 

G., — You have read them. 

Mrs. G., — We will read them now. 

G., — You have read them. 



109 

Mrs. Gr. {speaking lightly), — No, no, be calm, why are 
3'ou so agitated? Sit down, and listen. We will read 
them together, you and I, for they were written to you, 
and by my mother. I will read them aloud to you and 
listening to her words learn to love you all the more 
for all you did for her. 

{He sinhs hack in his chair helpless.) 

G., — You mock me, you mock me, you mock me. 

Mrs. G. {in feigned surprise), — Mock, you! I, why, 
I only wish to read to you. You are restless, so am 
I. You cannot sleep, no more can I. You steal down 
here to revive old memories, to spend an hour with 
the past. Well, so will I, for when I sleep I have bad 
dreams like you, and I dare not close my eyes for 
fear of seeing things. We are alone. There is no one 
up in all the house but you and me, and should you 
call or cry aloud for help there's not a soul to hear, 
not a soul except the ghosts that inhabit this room, 
and they will laugh — they will laugh — ha — ha — {she 
bends over him fiercely). If I did not love you I could 
strangle you where you sit {she almost hisses these 
tvords and moves so close to him, he sinks far doivn in 
his chair, terror-stricken. Then after a second she 
turns to the other side of the table, and kneels doivn 
so the light is on her face. She takes the letter she 
has already read, from the packet, opens it and begins 
reading it in a voice of forced calmness) ''Oh! Robert, 
Robert, I have not long to live.'' 

G. {interrupting , his jaiv hanging, his tone strongly 
nasal), — Angh — angh — stop, stop, stop, don't read 
that, don't read that, any but that — 

Mrs. G. {peremptorily), — Listen. It is a dying 



110 

woman who speaks. "I have not long to live, a few 
weeks, a month or two at most. I would not be a bur- 
den longer than the summer. By autumn you would 
be free." 

G. {half to himself) J — She did not live the summer 
through, — I remember,— I remember — it was in Aug- 
ust — 

Mrs. G. {continuing ,) — ''Oh, I beg of you to marry 
me. You promised once and I gave you all a woman 
has to give. You promised, I believed you, I trusted 
you, I loved you." 

G. {rouses himself, and greatly agitated)^ — Stop, my 
God, stop; it is your riiother, your mother, child, who 
wrote those words. Have you no regard for your 
mother's memory? 

Mrs. G., — Her memory bears no stain. Her fault 
was the fault of love, the one great transgression that 
God in his infinite wisdom and mercy pardons in a 
woman. But my fault, my sin, a union without love, 
he never pardons. 

G. {sinking hack and partly losing himself), — Ang — 
ang — ang — you talk of God ; there is no God — 

Mrs. G., — For such as you? No, no, but there is a 
hell, a hell on earth and a hell for all eternity. This 
letter is a part of your hell on earth, and this night 
the jaws of the hell beneath yawn for you. {He looks 
at- her, dumb ivith terror, his jaiv hanging and tremb- 
ling.) 

Mrs. G. {continuing the letter), — "If you do not keep 
your word, that love will turn to hate. If you do not 
marry me I shall die cursing you," — cursing you, curs- 



Ill 

ing you — {hi/ st eric ally). Oh, and I thought you were 
good to her, and I have given you my life, my youth, 
my body, m}^ very soul. I have tried to love you and 
be true to you, and all these years you have been a 
devouring beast, — drinking the heart's blood of every 
woman who crosesd your path. 

G. (not fully realizing what he is saying), — Welt, 
well, vshe's dead, she's dead and Jeannette's dead. 
They're all dead. 

Mrs. G. {rising and approaching him), — Except you 
and me. We are not dead. But the shadow of death 
is over us. 

G. {rousing a little), — What's that you say! The 
shadow of death — where? where? 

Mrs. G., — There, there, in your glassy eyes, your 
quivering lips, your hanging jaw. Your soul is already 
putrefied. 

G. (struggling, terrified), — ^^Stop, stop (the sounds 
become incoherent and guttural. He tries to reach over 
on table toward brandy. She ivatches him, fascinated). 

G. (in his efforts to reach decanter he hoarsely calls), 
— Brandy, brandy — give me — give — me — brandy — 

Mrs. G. (watching him), — He wants the brandy — 
brandy — if he does not get it he will die — die, the doc- 
tor said. 

(G. struggles agonizingly. His jaw dropping lower, 
his hands trembling, his eyes becoming fixed. He 
makes a supreme effort and reaches the decanter, which 
he touches and almost grasps by the neck. He is about 
to succeed ivhen she reaches foriuard and pulls it out 
of his reach. She -shrinks back, watching him. For a 



112 

moment he remains streched over the table, glaring at 
her. His fingers twitch in the direction of the de- 
canter. He litters a feiv guttural sounds and sixths 
hack, huddled doivn in a heap in the chair.) 

Mrs. G. {stealing toward him), — There, I have killed 
him, I have killed him. He is dead, he is dead. {She 
puts out her hand to touch him, hut draws hack with 
a shudder and drawing her hreath hetiveen her teeth 
with a sharp sound) I cannot touch him. I cannot 
touch him. Not for the world would I touch that mass 
of rotten flesh. He was so vile that hell will close 
its gates against his clamouring soul. {She slowly 
shrinks hack, her eyes still fixed upon him, hut ivith the 
look of madness. The clock in hall slowly strikes the 
hour of twelve. She starts and listens, turning toward 
portieres, ivhich she throws hack. Sound of waltz 
faintly heard.) 

Mrs. G., — The music, the music, the last waltz {she 
moves rythmically to sound of waltz) he is waiting, 
there, — there, — it is midnight. We must all unmask. 
{Horn faintly heard.) The horn, the horn. Unmask! 
Unmask ! ! 

{She falls to the floor. All sounds instantly cease.) 

{Curtain.) 



(RETURN THIS PROOF TO AUTHOR.) 



OCT 29 !909 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

016 215 130 7 • 



rr % 




